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I, 


SOLDIER AND THE SORCERESS 


ADYENTURES OE JANE SETON. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

THE KEYSTONE PUBLISHING CO. 


1890. 


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Conunts. 




1I4.PTE1 tAm^ 


L 

JANE SETON . • 




• 



0 

II. 

MAGDALENE OF FRANCE 



• 

• 

0 

• 

13 

III. 

TUE MASTER OF TUE ORDNANCE 



• 

• 


• 

23 

IV. 

REDUALL .... 







32 

V 

THE WITCH-PRICKER . . 



• 

• 

• 

• 

8f. 

VI. 

THE ILLUMINATED SPIRE . 



• 

• 

• 

• 

40 

VII. 

TWO OFFICIALS . . . 



t 

• 

• 


48 

vin 

THE queen’s masque . 



• 

• 

. • 

• 

63 

IX. 

LA VOLTA . . .' 



• 

• 

• 

• 

62 

X. 

LOVE AND ABHORRENCE . 



• 

• 

• 

• 

10 

XI. 

SWORDBLADES AND SALVE . 





• 


18 










xn. 

EDINBURGH IN \b‘6*l . 



« 

• 

• 

• 

83 

XIU. 

SAINT GILES 



• 

• 

• 

• 

90 

XIV. 

THE CHANCELLOR OF SCOTLAND 



• 

• 

• 

• 

99 

XV. 

THE NOON OF LOVE . . 



• 

• 

• 


106 

XVL 

vipont’s household . 



• 

• 

• 

• 

111 

XVIL 

A LORD ADVOCATE OF THE SIXTEENTH 

CENTURT 

• 

• 

• 

119 

xvni. 

THE CASTLE OF INCHKEITH 



• 


• 

• 

126 

XIX. 

THE FORTUNATE SWORD THRUST 



• 

• 

• 

• 

134 

XX. 

THE BLACK PAGE 



• 

• 

• 

• 

140 

XXL 

JOHN OF THE 8ILVERMILL3 



• 

• 

• 

• 

148 

XXII. 

TEN RED GRAINS . . 



• 

• 


• 

157 

txni. 

THE FIRST VISIT 



• 

• 

• 


163 

XXIV. 

THE KNIFE . . • 



• 

• 


• 

171 

XXV. 

DOUGLASDALE . 



• 


• 

t 

\ 

178 

XXVL 

THE BARMKYN OF CAIRNTABLE 



• 

• 

• 


182 

xxvn. 

THE POMMEL OF THE PONIARD 



• 




193 

XX vm. 

A DRAUGHT OF WATER 



% 

• 


\ 

199 


IT 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTEB 





XXLX. 

THE 

SECOND VISIT , . 



XXX. 

SANCTUARY 1 SANCTUARY I 


• 

XXXL 

THE 

PORTE OF THE SPUE 

• 


XXXIL 

THE 

THREE TREES OF DY8ART 


• 

XXXIII. 

THE 

WEEM . . . 

• 


XXXIV. 

THE 

DEATH OF MAGDALENE 


• 

XXXV. 

THE 

COLLEGE OF JUSTICE 


• 

XXXVL 

THE 

RACK THE devil’s MARK 

• 

XXXVII. 

THE 

GAGE OF BATTLE 



xxxvnL 

THE 

earl’s DARING 



XXXIX. 

THE 

earl’s success ■ . 

• 

• 

XU 

SYBIL .... 


• 

XLL 

A HAMILTON ! A HAMILTON ! 


• 

XLIL 

David’s tower — the physician 

• 

XLIIL 

David’s tower — the priest 

• 

• 

XLIV. 

David’s tower — the lover 

• 


XLV. 

THE 

BOON 

• 

. 

XLVL 

thirst 

• 


XLVn. 

what the paper contained 

• 


XLvm. 

the 

CROSS AND GILLSTOUP 

• 


XLIX. 

the 

CASTAWAYS 

• 


u 

FALKLAND . . . 

• 


LL 

THE 

KING AND THE CARDINAL 

• 


Ln.- 

THE 

LAIRD OP OLATTO 

• 

• 

Lm. 

THE 

FIGHT AT INVERTEIL 

• 

• 

LIV. 

THE 

king’s HORN . 

• 

• 

LV. 

THE 

BLUEGOWN • • 

• 

• 

LVL 

THE 

TEMPTATION 

• 

• 

LVIL 

THE 

LOCH 

• 

• 

iniL 

THE 

LAW OF THE SWORD 


• 

LIX. 

THE 

PLACE OF DOOM , 

• 

• 


• • • 




PAQI 

. 204 
. 211 
. 218 
. 226 
233 
243 
241 
259 
264 
. 268 
. 278 
. 283 
. 289 
. 295 
. 302 
. 306 

. 310 
. 319 
. 326 
. 330 

. 337 

. 343 

. 348 
. 354 
. 362 
368 
, 372 
382 
886 
389 
39^ 
40 } 


LX. CONCLUSION 


> 



JANE S E rON; 

OR, 

THE KING’S ADVOCATE. 


CHAPTER L 


JANE SETON. 


“ I prithee mark 

His countenance: unlike bold calumny, 

Which sometime dare not speak the thing it looks, 
"He dare not look the thing he speaks, but bends 
His gaze on the blind earth.” 

The Cenci. 


On the 19th of May, 1537, the bells of Edinburgh rang joy- 
ously. It was a day of loyalty and merriment such as never 
more may gladden Scotland’s ancient capital. 

After a nine months’ absence, James V. — “the good king 
James, the commons’ king, the father of the poor, the patron 
of the infant arts and sciences, the mirror of chivalry and 
romance,” as he was affectionately named by a people who 
idolized him — had arrived in the Firth of Forth with his young 
queen Magdalene of Valois, whom for her dazzling beauty he 
had chosen from among three princesses, all possessed of unu- 
sual charms, and whom he had espoused in the great cathedral 
of Notre Dame de Paris, in presence of her father, the magni- 
ficent and magnanimous Francis I., seven cardinals, and all the 
noblesse and beauty of France. After spending the honeymoon 
at the Hotel de Cluny, a beautiful old gothic house belonging 
U) the family of Lorraine, they had sailed for Scotland. 

All the capital was on tiptoe, and its streets were crowded to 
excess by the retinues of the nobles and lesser barons, who had 


JANK SETON ; OR, 


« 

(•onie thither to gratify their curiosity and evince their loyalty 
on the auspicious occasion. 

The day was one of the most beautiful of all that sunny 
month; and the summer air was laden with the perfume of 
dowers, for garlands and bouquets were festooned from window 
to window across the main street leading to the palace, a tho- 
roughfare six-and-twenty yards in breadth ; while the stone 
columns of the girth-cross of the holy sanctuary, the Jerusalem- 
cross of St. John, the great market-cross of the city bearing 
aloft the unicorn rearing on a tressured shield, and the famous 
stone statue of Our Lady which then stood at the east end of 
St. Giles’s church, were all wreathed and hidden under the 
spoil of a hundred blooming gardens. 

Scaffolds and balconies hung with tapestry and rare carpets 
of foreign manufacture, or painted with azure, starred with 
shining gold, occupied the sides of the streets in many places, 
and were crowded with the families of the surrounding land- 
holders, the better classes of citizens, and the baronial dwellers of 
the Blackfriars’ Wynd and the Canongate ; a great part of the 
latter street consisted then of turretted villas, and strongly-built 
but detached mansion-houses, surrounded by spacious gardens. 
Banners innumerable, bearing the heraldic cognizances of the 
proud, the noble, and the brave of Scotland’s ancient days, 
waved from window, turret and bartizan; the city fountains 
poured forth purple wine and nut-brown ale alternately (for the 
Scots had the former duty free before the Union), and the stal- 
wart deacon convener of the gallant craftsmen, sheathed in 
complete armour, with the famous Blue Blanket, or banner of 
the Holy Ghost, displayed, mustered the Baxters, the Web- 
sters, Cordiners, Dagger and Bonnet makers, and other ancient 
corporations, each under their several standards, to line the 
High street, on either side, from the Butter Tron to the Nether- 
bow, keeping clear a lane of some forty feet in breadth. These 
stout craftsmen, who mustered to the number of several thou- 
sands, were all arrayed in green gaberdines, red hose, and blue 
bonnets, and were armed as archers, with a steel gorget, a 
short but strong Scottish bow, a sheaf of arrows, a battle-axe, 
and long dagger. 

With the city sword and mace, and his own helmet and banner 
borne before him, the Lord Provost, Sir James Lawson, of the 
Highrigs, with all the baillies and burgesses clad in gowns of 
scarlet, furred with miniver, and wearing chains of gold ; the 
heralds and pursuivants in their plumed bonnets and gorgeous 


THE king’s advocate. 


1 


..al)ards, with standards and trumpets, musicians, minstrels, and 
macers, waited at the western entrance of the city to receive 
the king and queen with all due loyalty and splendour of 
pageantry ; while the priests of rank, the knights, nobles, and 
senators of the College of Justice, had all ridden to Leith to 
conduct the royal pair in procession to Holyrood. 

It is said that the beautiful Magdalene, on landing from the 
high-pooped and gaily-bannered ship of Sir Robert Barton, the 
king’s admiral, knelt gracefully down on the sands of Leith, 
and lifting a handful to her lips, kissed it ere she threw it away 
crosswise, and raising her large dark eyes to heaven, prayed 
with deep pathos, “ to God, the blessed Virgin, and all the saints, 
for the happiness of Scotland, the land of her adoption, and its 
people.” 

The bright sunshine of the glorious May morning, poured 
aslant its flaky radiance between the breaks and openings in 
those irregular masses of building, that tower up to such a 
giddy height on both sides of the central street of the ancient 
city; the south was sombre and grey, but the north was glow 
ing in warmth, as the sunlight played along its far-stretching 
vista. Many of these houses were flat-roofed, fla'gged with 
large stones, like ancient towers, or covered with thatch ; but 
few that overlooked the pageant about to be described are 
standing now, as the city was fired by the English in eight 
places seven years after, in the war with Henry VIII. 

By the skill of a certain cunning craftsman, the High-street, 
even at that early period, was well paved ; and the monks ot 
Holyrood kept the Canongate (which is but a further continu- 
ation of the same thoroughfare) well causewayed, for which the 
Reverend Lord Abbot levied a duty upon every cart, laden or 
unladen, which entered the eastern barrier of the burgh. 
All the open windows of that great street, the tall edifices 
of which rise to the height of eight and ten stories, exciting 
still the astonishment of every traveller, were filled with glad 
faces ; every bartizan, outshot, and projection bore its load ot 
shouting urchins; even the leads and parapets of the great 
cathedral, with its hideously grotesque stone-gutters, carved 
into devils and dragons, wyverns, and other monsters, bore a 
freight of spectators, the buzz of whose voices, above and below, 
imparted a liveliness to the scene, and relieved the tedium of 
long expectation and waiting for the approach of the royal 
party. 

The utmost good-humour pervaded these expectant crowd*, 


8 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


though sometimes a brav'l seemed likely to ensue, when a 
gentleman of pride and pedigree, with veiVet cloak, a long 
rapier, and tall feather, despising the authority of the convener 
and his bands of mechanical craftsmen, marched down the 
centre of the street, with a few well-armed serving-men follow- 
ing doggedly at his heels, with brows bent, their swords girt 
up, and that expression on their faces which seemed so much 
as to say, “ We are Humes, Douglasses, or Scotts, or Setons, 
and who will dare to meddle with us !” 

With these, such was the patent of gentle blood, the burgher 
archers dared not to interfere ; but their unstrung bows and 
^auntletted hands pommelled without mercy any luckless coun- 
tryman or denizen of Leith or St. Ninian’s Row, who encroach- 
ed on the causeway, which by orders of the nightly provost 
was to be kept clear by all. Such incidental brawls were 
generally quelled by the interference of some passing grey friar 
or Dominican. 

Those cavaliers who assumed the right of perambulating 
the open street were, as I have said, almost invariably attended 
by bands of followers, armed with swords and round targets, 
steel caps and corselets. Several of these were invariably 
greeted by a yell of hostility and epithets of opprobrium from 
those who occupied the windows, and who found this a more 
safe experiment than it could have proved to those who stood 
m the street below. 

These obnoxious personages were generally lesser barons and 
gentlemen of the house of Douglas, a clan which, from its 
numerical force, pride, power, and turbulence, had long been 
inimical to the house of Stuart, and more especially to James 
V., who after many efforts had completely broken its strength, 
reduced its numerous strongholds, and driven the chief, Archi- 
bald sixth Earl of Angus, and knight of St. Michael, from his 
high offices of Lord Chancellor and Lieutenant of the East and 
Middle Marches, with all the noblesse of his sirname and 
faction, to exile in England ; where, like all Scottish rebels and 
malcontents, according to the ancient line of southern policy, 
they were fostered and protected by Henry VIII. 

By the knights and gentlemen of the proscribed name those 
marks of hostility from the vulgar herd were treated with 
silent scorn ; but their followers scowled about them with 
clenched weapons and kindling eyes, that showed how intensely 
they longed to react the great High-street conflict of 1520 , and 
revenge on the rabble of Edinburgh the insults they now 


\\l\ Xing’s advocate. 


9 


endured. These an ' deuces of hostility and political disgust 
v/ere soon ost hluk'* 'ho general spirit of rejoicing that pervaded 
the entire Ood_^ of people ; for loyalty and devotion to their 
old hereditary hxie of piinces was then an inborn sentiment in 
the Scots, who '^•ele devout believers in the divine right of 
kings, and had not yet been taught by their preachers to view 
their old regal race as tyraiits and oppressors. 

Among all this mirth and festivity there were two persona 
whose sobriety and staidness of demeanour were very re- 
markable. 

One was a young man about six-and-twenty, who had, 
apparently, just entered the city, for his boots and leathern 
gambadoes were covered with dust. He wore a plain gaber- 
dine, or frock, of white Galloway frieze, with horn buttons ; but 
beneath it appeared a doublet of escaupil to protect him from 
sword thrusts, an unusual garment for one of his class, for his 
grey maud, or plaid, blue bonnet, backsword, and hunting- 
knife, announced him a yeoman oi agriculturist. He carried a 
great knotty walking-staft', recently cut from some wayside 
thicket ; but to a close observer it would have seemed perfectly 
evident that the profusion of his beard and moustache wtis 
worn rather for disguise than adornment. He was reading a 
paper affixed to the cross of St. John of Je/usalem, which stood 
in the centre of the Canongate, immediately opposite the arch 
which now gives admittance to St. John’s-street, the ground of 
which w^as then closely built upon. 

It was a proclamation, issued by the nobles who governed in 
the king’s absence, oftering a thousand mciks of Scottish 
money ^br “ ye heid of Archibald Seton, urnquhile Earl of 
Ashkirk” accused with leaguing with that false traitor, Archi- 
bald Doi.glas, sometime Earl of Angus, who had recently 
been on the borders, at the head of some English moss 
troopers, infesting the bounds of the knight. Sir Mark Kerr, of 
Cessford. 

With a brow that loured, and fierce eye that kindled, the 
young man read, from beginning to end, this proclamation 
(which was obnoxious to so many), and his hand gradually 
tightened on the handle of his poniard as he proceeded. Sud- 
denly remembering that he might be observed, a smile of scorn, 
such a lordly smile as never clown could have given, spread 
over his dark features ; he gave a glance of peculiar import at 
a group of ladies who occupied a balcony immediately opposite 
SU John’s Cross, -jrd drawing his bonnet well over his brows, 


10 


JAMK BETON ; OK, 


looked round for some obscure nook from whence to see, t 
security, the progress of the royal pageant. 

“ How little can they imagine that I am so near them,” said 
the Earl of Ashkirk (for the stranger was no other than he), aa 
he dived among the crowd and diiappeared. 

The other personage to whom reference has been made, was 
a tall and finely-formed man, of a noble presence and com* 
manding stature, possessing a remarkably handsome face, with 
a loftiness of bearing that never failed to strike the beholder 
with interest, llis comj)lexion was dark, his nose slightly 
aquiline, his eyes black, and sparkling beneath two brows that 
were almost joined together. At times, a fierce and restless 
expression lit up these fiery and penetrating eyes, and knit his 
smooth expansive forehead, while his moustachioed lip curled 
with pride and severity ; and then a languor and sadness stole 
over them, as other and softer emotions subdued the bitter 
thoughts some passing incident had roused, lie was dressed 
in a doublet and trunk hose of black velvet, laced and buttoned 
with silver, and trimmed with miniver; a black velvet bonnet, 
adorned by a single diamond and one tall white ostrich feather, 
shaded his dark, short, cu'ly hair. He wore a short poniard 
and long rapier in an embroidered belt, and had s}>urs, heavily 
gilded and embossed, on the heels of his inaroquin boots. 

This man was Sir Adam Otterburn, of liedhall, the King’s 
Advocate in the recently-instituted College of Justice, a great 
favourite with his royal master, and one, who, for his learning, 
probity, courage, and oflice, was loved by some, respected by 
many, and feared by all. llis features were pale and hollow, 
for he was recovering from a late illness, brought on by a 
wound received in a conflict with the Douglasses, a circum- 
stance which alone, on this auspicious day, confined him to a 
cushioned chair at the window of his house, which overlooked 
tlie High-street, where all the beauty and bravery of Edinburgh 
had thronged to welcome home King James. 

Oblivious of the bustle pervading that long and stately tho- 
roughfare, the streaming pennons, the waving banners, the 
gaudy tapestries and garlands that festooned every balcony 
and decorated every window, the Knight of Redhall continuecl 
to gaze upon the fair occupants of the temporary gallery which 
we have before mentioned as standing near St. John’s Cross. 

It was hung and canopied with scarlet cloth and festoons of 
flowers ; the front was painted with gold and azure, and fhereon 
lay a banner, bearing under an earl’s ox)ronet, and within a 


TTTE KTNO’r advocate. 


11 


widow’s lozenge, tlie tlii-ee crescents of Seton, within a double 
trt'ssure, flowered and coimter-tlowered with golden fleur-de-lis, 
quartered with “the bloody heart,” the dreaded cognizance of 
the obnoxious Douglasses — a badge, which though it seldom 
gained love, never tailed to inspire fear. An old lady and 
several fair young belles, whose beauty alone saved them from 
the insults which popular hatred levelled at all in alliance with 
the exiled Earl of Angus, occupied this balcony, and reclined 
beneath its shady canojiy, chatting gaily, and expectant of the 
royal approach. 

The elder lady was Margaret Douglass, of the house of Kil- 
spindie, dowager of John Earl of Ashkirk, and mother of Archi- 
bald, the present earl, who was then under doom of exile with 
Lord Angus, his kinsman and ally. The younger ladies were 
Jane Seton her daughter, Marion Logan of Uestalrig, Alison 
Hume of Fastcastle, and Sybil Douglas of Kilspindie, all noble 
damsels, who had come to Edinburgh to witness the splendid 
entree of Queen Magdalene. 

Tall in stature and dark in complexion, with deep black eyes 
and a hauteur of brow, which the sweet expression of her mouth 
alone relieved, the Countess Dowager of Ashkirk, though all 
but unable to read or wiite (for letters were then held in low 
repute), was a woman of a shi ewd and masculine turn of mind ; 
for the inborn dignity of noble birth, the martial spirit of her 
race, and the stormy life she had led since childhood among 
feudal brawls and intestine battles, had imparted an emphatic 
decision, if not a fierceness, at times to her manner and modes 
of expression. A stiff suit of the richest Genoese brocade lent 
additional stateliness to her figure, while the diamond-shaped 
head-dress then in fashion for noble matrons, added greatly to 
her stature, which was far above the middle height. The inner 
folds of this angular coif were of white linen, the outer of pur- 
ple silk edged with yellow fringe, and it formed a corner at 
each ear with an apex at the top, while the folds lay close to 
her cheeks, scarcely permitting her hair to be visible, and where 
it was so its raven hue seemed turning fast to silver-grey. 

A little negro boy, black as Lucifer, but dressed entirely in 
d rich suit of white satin, puffed and slashed at the trunks and 
shoulders, held up her train. Ugly as a fiend, with a broad 
nose, capacious mouth, and long pendant ears adorned with 
massive silver rings. Master Sabrino, being the first or the second 
yerson of his colour ever seen in Scotland, was an object of feai 
to some, disgust to others, and wonder to all. The vulgai 


JANE seton; or, 


viewed him as an imp or devil incarnate, and studiously avoided 
.he glance of his shining black eye-balls; but the creature^ as 
they termed him, was affectionately devoted to his mistress, 
and to all who used him kindly. Though the fashion of 
being attended by a black page or dwarf was not uncommon 
at continental courts, and had been first introduced into Scot- 
land by Anne de la Tour of Vendome, Duchess of Albany, 
it did not tend to increase the popularity of the proud 
and distant Dowager of Ashkirk, whom, as a Douglas, the 
people were generally disposed to view with hostility and mis- 
trust. 

Lady Jane Seton was, in many respects, the reverse of her 
mother ; for she had neither her lofty stature, her keenness of 
eye, nor her haughty decision of manner ; for her figure, 
though full and round, was, by turns, light, graceful, and yield- 
ing. Neither her youth, for she was barely twenty, nor her 
beauty, though it was of the first class, were her chief charac- 
teristics. There was a depth of expression in her dark blue 
eye, which, by turns, was dreamy and thoughtful, or bright and 
laughing, a charm in her radiant complexion and a fascination 
in her manner, which drew all instinctively towards her. 
When silent, she seemed full of intense thought ; when speak- 
ing, all vivacity and animation. Her hair was of the darkest 
and glossiest brown, and her neck arched and slender. Simple 
and pleasing, sinless in soul and pure in heart, her goodness 
and gentleness were her greatest charms ; and though she 
appeared petite beside her towering mother, there was a grace 
in all her morements, and a bewitching piquancy in every 
expression, that made Jane Seton adorable to her lovers, and 
she had many. 

Her companions were worthy the association, all fair and 
handsome girls. 

Alison, of Fastcastle, was a beautiful blonde ; she carried a 
falcon on her wrist, and from time to time pressed its smooth 
pinions against her dimpled cheek. Marion, of llestalrig, was 
a tall, flaxen-haired, and blue-eyed beauty, ever laughing and 
ever gay ; while Sybil Douglas, of Kilspindie, was a brunette 
like all the beauties of her house. Her deep black eyes and 
sable tresses would have lost nothing by comparison with those 
of Andalugia ; and though generally quiet, and. as some deep\ed 
her, insipid, her silence concealed a world of sentiment and 
thoughts that were exquisitely feminine ; but though silent and 
retiring, there were times when this fair daughter of the house 


THE king’s advocate. 


IS 


of Douglas could manifest a fire and spirit becoming Black 
Liddesdale himself. 

They were all dressed nearly alike, in white satin, slashed 
at the breast and shoulders with variously coloured silk, and 
all had coifs of velvet squared above their temples, and falling 
in lappets on their cheeks. They were all talking at once, 
laughing at everything, like Sabrino the page, whose wide 
mouth was expanded in an endless grin ; but the old countess 
was buried in thought, and with her forehead resting on her 
hand, and her elbow on the edge of the balcony, continued to 
gaze abstractedly on the long and bustling vista of the sunlit 
Caiiongate. 


CHAPTER ir. 

MAGDALENE OF FRANCE. 


“ Saw’st thou not the great preparatives. 

Of Edinburgh that famous noble town ; 

Thou saw’st the people fabouring for their lives, 

To make triumph with trump and clarion : 

Thou saw'st full w«ll many a fresh galland, 

Well ordered for receiving of their queen, 

Each craftsman with his bent bow in his hand,.. 

Right galianllie in clothing short of green.” 

Lindesay or ths Mount. 


“ Tiieiu graces tarry long,” said the countess, glancing impa 
tiently up the street; “it is almost midday by the sun. Jane, 
child, hast got thy pocket dial about thee ?” ^ 

Lady Jane took from her embroidered girdle a little silver 
dial, and placing it duly east and west, found the hour to be 
twelve by the shadow of the gnomon, for the sun shone 
brightly. 

“ I warrant me,” said the countess, “ that his eminence the 
cardinal will be relieving himself of some prosy oration at the 
foot of the Broad Wynd, for the benefit of the king’s grace.” 

“ Of the queen’s, you mean, Lady Ashkirk,” said Alison 
Home, “ for his lordship is a great admirer of beauty. Thou 
knowest, cousin Jane, how often he hath admired thee. 

Jane coloured with something of displeasure at this remark, 
for, by the rumour of his gallantries, to be admired by this great 
prelate was no high honour. 


u 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“T would the king were' come, for my patience is wearing 
fast away,” said she, raising lier bright eyes fi'om the silver 
index to her mother’s thouglitful face. 

“Is it for the king alone thou art so impatient, child?” said 
the old lady, with a keen but smiling glance. 

“Nay, for one who accompanies him — for the queen,” said 
Jane, growing pale, for she always turned pale where othei’s 
grew red. “Is not James the avowed enemy of our house ?” 

“ But is there no other for whom ye long, silly lassie ?” 
asked Marion Logan, throwing an arm round Jane. 

“ My sweet friend— yes ; for one who is dearer to me almost 
tlian thee ; he who sent me this dial from Paris. Oh, Marion ! 
to think that he hath been there for nine weary months !” 

“ Marry, come up, bairn, what matters it ?” said the countess, 
who overheard them, though the two fair friends spoke in low 
tones ; “he will be so changed, and improved in gallantry and 
grace, that you will scarcely recognise liim.” 

“I cry you mercy, mother,” said Jane, pouting; “I knew 
not that he required improvement in either.” 

“ By my troth, lady countess,” said Alison Home, “ if you 
mean Sir Rowland Vipont, the Master of the King’s Ordnance, 
I think him so finished a cavalier that no court in Europe could 
improve him more.” 

“ Save the court of king Cupid,” said Marion. 

“And where does he reign ?” asked Jane. 

“ In thine own heart, cousin,” said little Sybil, quietly, and 
then all the girls laughed aloud. 

“I thank you, sweet Alison,” said Jane, in a low voice, kiss- 
ing her friend, for her heart danced lightly to hear her lover 
praised; “ but dost thou know that though I am full of joy, I 
would give the world to shed a shower of quiet tears iust 
now ?” 

“ Heaven give thee happiness to-day, dear Jane,” replied her 
friend, in the same soft, earnest voice, “ and may it send thy 
lover back to thee in love and truth, and health and comeli- 
ness, as when he left thee these nine long months ago.” 

“ Sabrino,” said the countess, suddenly"; “ prick up those long 
ears of thine ! dost thou not hear the sound of trumpets ?” 

“Ees, madame — me tink so,” grinned the sable page, whose 
efforts at articulation cost him a frightful grimace. 

“Then, James must be ascending the West Bow,” replied 
the countess, as a commotion and murmur became apparent 
among the mighty masses that crowded the whole street. 


THE king’s advocate. 


15 


At that moment the roar of the castle artillery pealed over 
the city, and announced the entrance of the king by its western 
Uirrier, along the llighrigs, past the tilting ground and the 
chapel of the Virgin Mary. Deeply and hoarsely carthoun and 
culverin thundered from the towers of St. Margaret and King 
l)avid, and a deafening shout of welcome and acclamation 
resounded from the crowded streets. 

“ Though the enemy and oppressor of the Douglasses and the 
Homes,” continued the countess, standing up in front of the 
.>alcony, “ I cannot forget that he is our anointed king — that 
he has long been absent, and has endured great perils by sea 
and land ; and so this day 1 bid him hail and welcome home 
in the name of heaven.” 

“ ’Tis said the queen will ride behind him on a pillion,” said 
Alison Home. 

“Nay, child,” replied the countess; “the Master of the 
Horse passed up street with a beautiful palfrey of spotlevss white, 
having a golden footcloth that swept the ground, for her grace’s 
especial behoof. Ha ! bairns, the mention of pillions remiiideth 
me of the days of our good King James IV. I was but a lassie 
then, in my teens, like yourselves; and when James espoused 
the younger sister of Henry Tudor, though liking not the Eng- 
lish match, I was appointed a lady of honour to Queen Mar- 
garet, for then — (and the countess spoke bitterly ) — then to be 
a Douglas was different from what it is to-day ! Like his son, 
James IV. was then a winsome youth, and fair to look upon. 
Few matched him for courage and hardiment in the field, and 
none surpassed him in grace and courtly devoir. Amid a ga.- 
lant band of spears, with ladies, lords, and knights, all clad in 
silk and taflfety, laced and furred with miniver, with many a 
waving plume, and many a golden chain, they issued forth 
from S^aint Mary of Newbattle, beneath the old oak trees, and 
James had his fair young English bride behind him on a pil- 
lion, riding just like any douce farmer and his gudewife, and, 
certes ! a bonnie young pair they were as ever had holy water 
s])rinkled on their bended heads ! James was bravely attired — • 
a doublet of velvet bordered with cloth of gold, and his bride 
was blazing with diamonds. As we rode townward, by the 
way side, near our Lady’s Well at Kirk Liberton, we saw a fair 
pavilion pitched on the green brae side, and at the door thereof 
stood a lance fixed in the earth, with a shield hung upon it. A 
lady, holding a siller bugle horn, came forth to greet the royal 
pair, when suddenly a savage knight, mounted, and clad in a 


10 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


lion’s skin, daslied out of a neighbouring coppice and bore her 
away. Then, lo ! another knight, armed at all points, spirred 
his fleet horse from the gay pavilion, and assailed him \Hth 
uplifted sword. Bravely they fell on, with the captive dame 
between them, and the keen edged blades made ilka tempen'^. 
casque and corslet ring like kirk bells on a festival. The res- 
cuer struck the sword from the hand of his enemy, the kin^ 
cried, ‘ Redd ye, sirs !’ and so the combat was closed, and th( 
lady released.” 

“ And who was this fair dame ?” asked Alison, with assumed 
curiosity, for she had heard the same story, in the same words, 
a hundred times before. 

“Whom think ye, but I ; and my leal Lord Archibald was 
the errant knight who saved me from the savage warrior, and 
he was no other than thy father, dear Alison, Sir Cuthbert Home 
of Fastcastle, who died by King James’s side at Flodden ; for 
you must know, maidens, that it was all a fair masque prepared 
to suit the warlike taste of the king, who loved well to see his 
knights under harness, and proving their hardiment on each 
Ollier’s coats of mail. All that and mickle mair I remember as 
if ’twere yesterday, and now ’tis three and thirty years ago 
Three and thirty !” continued the garrulous old lady, “ how 
the traitors Death and Time have changed my cheer since then.” 

“ True, madam,” said little Sybil, thoughtfully ; “ the best 
part of our life is made up of the anticipations of hope, and the 
pleasures, the sad pleasures, of memory.” 

“Thy thoughts are running on my son. Lord Archibald,” 
said the countess, with a fond smile, as she smoothed the thick 
tresses of Sybil. “The first is for the young like you, and the 
last to solace the auld like me. St. Mary keep us ! how year 
runs after year. My fair bairns, I hope a time may come when 
ye will all look back to this day as I do to that ; but not with 
a sigh, to think such things have been, but can never be again !” 

The countess sighed, and a tear stole into her eye ; but a crv 
from the girls of — 

“ Oh ! here they come — the king and queen !” followed by a 
clapping of hands, and a burst of acclamation from the popu- 
lace, amid which the old cry, which the Scots had lately bor- 
rowed from their allies, the French — “ Vive la Royne ! Vive la 
Royne !” was conspicuous. It was a shout that rang from the 
crowded streets below, the windows and bartizans above, loud 
enough to rend the summer welkin, and heralded the approach 
of James and his French bride. 


THE king’s advocate. 


n 


The occasional flourish of trumpets, mingled with the sound 
of the drum, the shalm, the cymbal, the clarion, and the clang 
of hoofs, rang in the lofty street. Spears glittered, banners 
waved, and silken pennons streamed in the sunlight at a dis- 
tance, above the sea of heads ; while armour flashed, and 
embroidery sparkled, as the superb procession, conveying the 
royal pair to Holyrood, approached. 

Under the high sheriff of Lothian and Sir Andrew Preston 
of Gourtoun, a strong body of mounted spearmen, sheathed in 
dark armour, cleared and lined the streets, while the provost. 
Sir James Lawson of the Ilighrigs, chequered them with several 
thousands of the burgher archers and craftsmen, for each armed 
corporation was arrayed under its own pennon ; and the great 
consecrated standard of the city, bearing the image of Saint 
Giles, floated near the battlements of the Cross — as tradition avers 
it floated over Salem. A volume would be required to describe 
the magnificence of the romantic pageant that now approached ; 
for James, as 1 have said, was the idol of his people, and a nine 
months’ absence had endeared him to them more ; and all their 
loyalty and enthusiasm now blazed forth at his return. First 
came three hundred of his royal guard, clad in blue bonnets 
and scarlet doublets, armed with long partizans and poniards. 
These were all men of Edinburgh, given by the city to attend 
James “ on all occasions, especially against his auld and aun- 
cient enemies of England.” Then came a long train of that 
fierce and proud nobility whose turbulence and intrigues ulti- 
mately broke the good king’s heart. They wore robes of state 
over their rich armour ; their jewelled coronets were borne 
before, and their gallant banners behind them ; each was 
attended by a knight, a page, an esquire, or other gentleman, 
m accordance with his rank. Then came the lesser barons, 
ea(;h riding with his pennon displayed ; and then the honour- 
able commissioners of burghs, clad in gowns of scarlet, with 
gold chains ; the twelve heralds and pursuivants, with six ban- 
nered trumpets, sounded before them a triumphal march, to 
which the kettle drums and cymbals of the horsemen lent addi- 
tional animation. 

1 )Ut the shouts which greeted- this part of the procession 
became subdued, for now came a single horseman riding alone, 
with a page on each side supporting his footcloth, which was 
composed entirely of cloth-of-gold. He was a man of a singu- 
larly noble presence and commanding stature ; his deep dark 
eyes were full of fire and expression, yet his face w'as calm and 
2 


18 


JANE seton; or, 


placid, and his gaze was fixed on the flowing mane of his 
Leautitul roan horse; and though every liead bowed at his 
approach, he seemed abstracted and oblivious of all ; his i^ope 
and stockings were scarlet, and a very broad bat of the same 
sanguine hue cast a pleasant shadow over liis sombre features. 

“ Rise, my bairns,” said the Countess of Ashkirk ; “ it is his 
eminence the cardinal !” 

And chancing to raise his head at that moment, he waved 
a benediction towards the balcony. He was David Beaton, 
cardinal of St. Stephen, the lord high chancellor of Scotland, 
legate of Paul III., and the terror of those who, in their secret 
hearts, had begun to nourish the doctrines of the reformed 
dmrch. A young cavalier, in a half suit of magnificently 
gilded armour, attended him, and spent his time between caress- 
ing a falcon which sat upon his dexter wrist, and bowing to 
the ladies on either side of the street, lie was Sir Norman 
Leslie of Rothes, who, a few years after, slew the cardinal in his 
archiepiscopal palace. Immediately behind him came a crowa 
of ecclesiastics, and the eight bishops — Stewart of Aberdeen 
Hepburn of Brechin, Chisholm, the worthless holder of the see 
of Dunblane, Dunkeld, Moray, Ross, Orkney, and Ferquhard 
of the Isles, all riding on led horses, with their mitres, crosiers, 
and magnificent vestments, glittering in the sunlight. 

Then came the black Abbot of Cambus Kenneth (the lord 
pi'esident of the New College of Justice), attended by his four- 
teen senators, the ten sworn advocates, the clerks to the signet, 
notaries and macers of court, all of whom were greeted with 
lowering brows and murmurs of ill-repressed hatred and dislike ; 
for the introduction of the courts of session and justiciary had 
been a very unpalateable measure to the factious and turbulent 
Scots. 

Surrounded by the chief ladies of the kingdom, and by the 
damsels of honour all richly attired in hoods of velvet tied with 
strings of pearl, with kirtles of brocade and cloth of gold, Mag- 
dalene of France approached on a palfrey white as the new 
fallen snow, with six young knights (each the son of an earl) 
supporting on their lances a silken canopy above her head. 
The splendour of her dress, which was shining with costly 
jewels, enhanced the greatness of her beauty, which outshone 
the charms of all around her, even the fair girls to whom the 
reader has been so lately introduced. Sprung from a royal line 
long famous for the charms of its princesses, Magdalene was 
only in her sixteenth year ; but over her girlish loveliness the 


THE king’s advocate. 


Id 

pallor of consumption was then spreading a veil more tender 
and enchanting. The novelty and excitement of the scene 
around lent additional animation to her lively French features, 
and lieightened the brilliancy of her complexion, which was 
exquisitely tair; her eyes were light blue, and her braided hair 
was of the most beautiful blonde. She was rather small in 
stature, but beautitully formed ; and the sweetness of her happy 
smile, and the grace with which she bowed and kissed both her 
hands alternately to the subjects of her liusband, filled them 
with a storm of enthusiasm ; and the respectful silence which 
had greeted her at first, expanded into a burst of rapture and 
congratulation. The ambassadors of England, Spain, France, 
and Savoy, wearing the collars of various kuightly orders, rode 
near her. 

With the sword, sceptre, and crov/n, borne, each by an* earl, 
before him, James appeared, attended by the leadiiig nobles of 
the realm. A cuirass of steel, polished like a mirror and inlaid 
with gold, showed to advantage his bold breast and taper 
vaist. His doublet and trunk breeches were of white satin 
slavshed with yellow and buttoned with diamonds, and his short 
mantle of azure velvet was tied over his breast with golden 
tassels. The collars of the Thistle, the Garter, the Golden 
P'leece, and the escallops of St. Michael, were hanging on hii 
breast, and flashed in one broad blaze to the noon-day sun. 
His dark eyes were full of animation, and the ringlets of his 
rich brown hair fluttered in the breeze as he waved his plumed 
cap to the people who loved him well, for he was better pleased 
to be thought the king of the poor than king of the peers of 
Scotland. He was surrounded by all the great officers of state 
and household; Robert Abbot of Holyrood, bearing his high 
treasurer’s mace with its beryl ball, rode beside Colville of Cul- 
ross, the great chamberlain of Scotland. Then came the lord 
high constable and the great marischal, the former with a 
naked sword, and the latter with an axe, borne before him ; 
Colville of Ochiltrie, the comptroller ; the dean of Glasgow, the 
secretary of state ; Argyle, the lord justice-general, and Colinton, 
the lord clerk registrar ; Lord Evandale, director of the chan- 
cery, the preceptor of the Knights of St. John, the high admi- 
ral, the royal standard-bearer, the grand carver, the great 
cup-bearer, the masters of the horse, the hounds, and the 
falcons, the marshal of the household, and though last, not 
least, Jock Macilree, the king’s jester, who has been immor- 
talised by the Knight of the Mount; and though ignobly 


20 


JANE seton; or. 


bestridi/i<^ a sleek donkey, his parti-colored garb, his long-eared 
cap, jangling bells, hanging bladder, and resounding laugh, 
attracted more attention than the mailed chivalry and sump- 
tuously-attired noblesse who encircled the king. 

James, wdio bowed affably to the people on every side, was 
scrupulous in recognising all ladies, especially if handsome, and 
consequently the bright group clustered round the Countess of 
Ashkirk-could not escape his observation. Waving his bonnet, 
he was about to bow to his horse's mane, when his eye caught 
the quarterings of Douglas, and an ominous flash of undisguised 
anger immediately crimsoned his fine features ; he was turning 
away, when a rose was thrown upon his breast, and a pleasant 
voice cried, 

“Heaven save your grace, and bless our fair lady the 
queen !” 

It was Jane Seton’s voice, and the richness of its tone with 
the sweetness of her smile subdued James at once ; and placing 
the rose in the diamond George that hung from the splendid 
collar of the garter, this gallant young king bowed low, and 
kissed his hand. 

“Hark you, Vipont,” said he to a handsome young man 
about his own age, who rode by his side ; “ what dame and 
damoiselles are these ? You vailed your bonnet with more 
than usual reverence to them.” 

The cavalier hesitated. 

“ Faith,” continued James, “ there was a most undeniable 
scowl in the dark eyes of the elder lady in that outrageous 
English coif. Who is shc^, and why, i’ the devil’s name, does 
she wear thatP' 

“ I trust your majesty is mistaken,” replied the young man, 
hurriedly, and with confusion ; “ she is the countess dowager of 
Ashkirk, with her daughter the Lady Jane.” 

“Ashkirk!” reiterated James, knitting his brows; “is she 
not a daughter of old Greysteel, and hath more than a spark 
of old Bell-the-cat in her spirit ? By St. Anne, this accounts 
for her English coif, when, out of compliment to our royal con- 
sort, the French fashions are all in vogue !” 

“ Please your majesty,” urged Vipont. 

“ I remember the dame of old, in the days of the Douglasses 
tyranny, when they kept me a close captive in the old tower 
of Falkland. God’s malison on the whole tribe ; 1 would it had 
but one neck, and that it lay under my heel !” 

“ Amen, say I ;” “ and I,” “ and 1,” added several courtiers, 


THE king’s advocate. 

who enjoyed gifts from the forfeited estates of the banished 
barons. 

The young man sighed and bit his lips as he checked his 
horse a little, and permitted Sir David Liiidesay of the Mount, 
another favourite, to assume his place by the side of the king. 

Tall, and finely formed, with an erect bearing and athletic 
figure, Sir Roland Vipont was the very model of a graceful 
cavalier. His features, though not strictly handsome, were 
pleasing, manly, and expressive of health, good humour, and 
the utmost frankness. His heavy moustaches were pointed 
sharply upwards, and his hair was shorn close (a la Philip II.), to 
permit his wearing a helmet with ease, for, as master of the royal 
ordnance, a week seldom passed in those turbulent times with- 
out his being engaged on the king’s service. A smart bonnet 
of blue velvet, adorned by a single feather, by its elegant slouch 
gave a grace to the contour of his head ; while a short mantle 
of the same material, lined with white satin, and furred, as 
usual, with miniver, waved from his left shoulder. His trunk 
breeches were, also of white satin, and slashed with red ; his 
doublet was cloth c gold, and, blazing in the sun-light, rivalled 
his magnificent b?Mrick, which, like his bugle-horn, sword, 
and dagger, was studded with precious stones. No knight 
present, not even the king himself, surpassed the master of the 
ordnance in the splendour of attire, the caparisons of his horse, 
or the grace with which he managed it ; and yet poor Sir 
Roland, though the last representative of the Viponts of Fife- 
shire (the Scoto-Norman barons of Aberdour), possessed not 
one acre of land, and soldier-like, carried all his riches about 
him. 

His whole features beamed with joy and ardour, as he raised 
his eyes to the Ashkirk balcony; his sun-burnt cheek grew 
crimson, and his heart bounded with delight. Jane trembled - 
as she smiled, and grew pale (for, as I have said elsewhere, she 
grew pale when other girls would have blushed). Many months 
had elapsed since they had looked on each other’s beaming 
faces, and a volume of happiness and recognition was exchanged 
in their mutual glances. 

“Brave Vipont!” exclaimed the old countess, with some- 
thing of a mother’s ardour, as she looked after him, “ of a ver- 
ity, there are few more noble among our Scottish knights. 
How unfortunate that he is such a minion to the will of a pam- 
pered king.” 

“ Minion, good mother I” said Jane, faintly. 


22 


JANE seton; or, 


“ I said minion, child ; and 1 now say slave ! Didst thou 
not see how covertly he bowed to us, and then only when the 
king looked another way ? A proper squire, by our Lady ! and 
didst thou not mark how James frowned when first he saw us, 
nor bowed” 

“ Until I smiled on him,” said Jane, playfully. 

“Naughty little varlet, methought ’twas when I smiled,” 
said Alison Home, gaily, as she kissed her beautiful friend. 

“ Poor Vipont !” continued the countess, “ he dreads the loss 
of thy love, Jane, on one hand, and of the king’s favour on 
the other. But for this paltry manceuvring, child, thou hadst 
been the lady of his heart a year ago.” 

“ Mother, I have been the lady of his heart these three years ; 
but poor Roland hath no more to give me than a heart in re- 
turn. His estate ” 

“ Consists of old Mons Meg and her marrows,” said Marion 
Logan. 

“ A lucrative estate he hath found them sometimes,” said the 
countess, coldly, “ when he bent their cannon-balls against the 
castles of the Douglasses. But for this paltry fear, I repeat, 
thou hadst been his wedded wife a year ago, and he had been 
now a true man to the Earls of Ashkirk and Angus, instead of 
being the silken slave of James Stuart, whose poor ambition is 
to grind beneath his heel that Red Heart which my husband 
hath often borne, amid crashing spears, in the van of Scotland’s 
battles — and ever bore victoriously !” And as she spoke, the 
countess struck her clenched hand upon the banner which was 
spread over the balcony before her. 

“ Thou sayest well, dearest madam !” said little Sybil Doug- 
las, whose dark eyes sparkled as she imbibed some of the coun- 
tess’s fiery spirit ; “ and again that Red Heart shall be a terror 
to the Lowlands, and a scourge for past injuries.” 

At that moment Lady Jane Seton raised her eyes to a win- 
dow opposite, and encountered the fixed gaze of a sickly and 
ghastly face ; the features were rigid, the lips firmly compressed, 
the dark eyes were fiery and red. There was a basilisk or rat- 
tlesnake expression in them that rivetted her attention. They 
were those of Sir Adam Otterburn of Redhall, who had been 
attentively observing the greeting which passed between her 
and Vipont — a greeting that wrung his heart with agony and 
jealousy ; but he bowed with studied politeness and hurriedly 
withdrew. 

Jane felt relieved by his absence, and again drew breath 


THE king’s advocate. 


23 


more freely ; but her colour came and went, and her heart for 
a moment became filled ('she knew not why) with vague appre- 
hensions. She knew all Sir Adam’s glance conveyed, and 
trembled for her lover ; for the King’s Advocate of the New 
Court was then vested with such powers and terrors as a 
romancer would alone endow a grand inquisitor. 

The pageant passed on to Holyrood accompanied by loud 
and incessant bursts of acclamation ; by songs and carols of 
welcome and of triumph ; for the people, already predisposed 
to loyalty and jollity, were enraptured by the return of the 
king, by the gallantry of his bearing, and the beauty of his 
young French bride. Thus the wells continued to pour forth 
wine and ale alternately, the castle to fire its ordnance, and the 
people to shout until St. Marie (a great bell with a very sweet 
tone, which then hung in the rood tower of St. Giles) rung the 
citizens to vespers and to rest. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE MASTER OF THE ORDNANCE. 

*• The bride into her bower is sent, 

The ribald rhyme and jesting spent ; 

The lover’s whispered words and few, 

Have bade the bashful maid adieu ; 

The dancing floor is silent quite, 

No foot bounds there — Good night ! good night !” 

Joanna Baillik. 

Evening was closing, when a brilliantly attired cavalier 
caracoled his horse from the palace porch, past the high 
Flemish gables of an ancient edifice, which was then the Mint 
of Scotland, past the strong round archway known as the 
Water Gate, because it led to the great horse-pond of the 
palace, and throwing a handful of groats (twenty to king 
James’s golden penny) among the poor dyvours who clustered 
round the girth cross of the Holy Sanctuary, rode up the 
Canongate. It was Sir Roland Vipont, the master of the 
king’s ordnance. 

Compared to the bustle it had exhibited at noon, the street, 
though many still thronged it, seemed lifeless and emjity. The 
windows w’ere closed, the balconies deserted, the banners, pen 


24 


JANE seton; or, 


nons, and tapestry hung pendant and motionless, and the gay 
garlands were withering on the stone cross of St. John of Je- 
rusalem. Casting a hasty glance around him to discover whe- 
ther he was observed (for the political, feudal, and court 
intrigues of the time made it necessary that his visit to the 
family of Ashkirk should be as little noted as possible), he dis- 
mounted. 

A low-browed pend, or archway, opening from the street, 
and surmounted by a massive coat of arms within a deep 
square panel, gave admittance to the paved court of the man- 
sion. He led his horse through, and was buckling the bridle 
to one of the numerous rings with which, for the convenience 
of mounted visitors, the walls of the court were furnished, when 
a man, who for some time before had been standing in the 
shadow of the archway, roughly jostled him. 

How now, sirrah ?” exclaimed Vipont, feeling for his 
poniard, “ what mean you by this ?” 

“Pardon me — my foot tripped,” replied the other, in a 
husky voice. 

“Who are you,” asked Vipont, suspiciously, “and what 
make you here, sir ?” 

“ In the first place I am no friend of yours, in the second 
my purpose matters nothing to any man — so, keep your way, 
in Heaven’s name, and let me keep mine, or it may fare the 
worse with you.” 

“ This is language rarely addressed to me.” 

“ Thou !” said the other, scornfully, “ and who art thou 

“ Devil choke thee, rascal !” exclaimed the soldier, angrily ; 
“ I am master of the king’s ordnance.” 

“ To be master of your own temper would be better ; but, like 
your brass culverins, it seems apt to go oft‘ upon occasions.” 

“ Hark you, sir ; if you deem this witty, you are labouring 
under a delusion ; and, had I not mattere of more importance 
in hand, by the holy mass ! I would break every bone in vour 
body.” 

The other made no immediate reply, but his eyes gleamed 
like two red coals beneath the black bonnet, which he wore 
drawn over his brows ; but he was so well mufiled up by the 
cape of his large mantle, that Sir Roland strove in vain to dis- 
cover some clue as to whom he might be, that was prowling by 
night near the mansion of the Setons ; and there was some- 
thing so startling and cat-like in the aspect of his eyes, that the 
•oldier recoiled a pace. 


THE ring’s advocate. 


25 


“Sir Roland,” continued the stranger, sarcastically, “you 
had acted a wiser part in staying by James’s side at Holyrood 
to-night, than in forfeiting his fickle favour by visiting those 
who are his avowed enemies.” 

“ Thou best, sirrah !” said Vipont, striking him on the shoul- 
der with his clenched hand. “The Setons of Ashkirk are 
loyal as any in the land, and I will meet hand to hand and 
body for body, any false traitor that gainsays me. But keep 
your own way, in the devil’s name, and trouble me no more — 
so, a good even, sir.” 

“ 1 bid thee joy of thy wooing, fair sir,” replied the other, 
scornfully, as the master of the ordnance entered, and closed 
the gate behind him. It was Red hall who spoke, and a sigh 
of rage and bitterness escaped him as Vipont approached Uio 
turnpike tower of the mansion. “ Painted wasp !” he exclaimed, 
as he walked hurriedly away, “by Him who died upon lae 
rood, that blow shall cost thee dear !” 

Within an apartment which was completely hung with the 
richest arras, though the floor was bare, ihe Countess of Ash- 
kirk, her daughter, and the ladies, were seated at various occu- 
pations. The old lady was slowly and laboriously endeavour- 
ing to decipher, word by word, one of those curious old tomes 
which, at times, issued from the shop of Chepman and Millar, 
two ancient bibliopoles, who established, in the Cowgate, the 
first printing-press in Scotland, in the time of James IV., who 
granted thejn the privilege of “imprenting all bukes” within 
the realm. 

Alison Home and the black page were playing at chess, the 
fair young girl looking almost like a divinity when contrasted 
to the frightful African boy ; while Jane Seton and her dark- 
eyed kinswoman, Sybil Douglas, influenced by that spirit of 
industry which then pervaded all ranks, were plying their busy 
hands in embroidering a velvet cover for a large vellum missal, 
which they were working in flowers of gold and silk, and 
which was to be a donation from Jane to her friend Josin 
llenrison, the lady superior of St. Catherine’s Gbnvent, nea 
the Burghioch. 

The light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, 
and fell upon their dark hair, as it mingled together, and edged 
their white necks and nimble fingers with dazzling whiteness. 
A bell tolled at a distance ; they paused, and looked up. 

“ Eight o’clock,” said the countess ; “ the bell is ringing foi 
the comjiliney at St. Marie of Placentia.” 


26 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“And he tarries yet,” said Jane, in a low voice to Sybil. 

“Do not speak reproachfully, cousin,” replied Sybil, gently; 

“ be is not always master of bis own actions, and tbou knowest 
weW ” 

Tbe black page touched her arm, laid a finger on bis great 
nether lip, and pointed towards the street. 

“Dear Sabrino,” said Jane ; “ what dost thou hear?” 

“ Horse !” replied the page, briefly. 

“ Sabrino, thou hast the very ears of a bratch hound,” said 
the countess. “Now spurs are jingling under the pend — ’tis 
he !” continued the old lady, whose cheek flushed, and eyes 
filled with joyous expectation. A manly step, and the clear 
ringing of silver spurs, were heard ascending the stone staircase 
of the mansion ; a hand covered with a steel gauntlet drew 
back the heavy arras, and the ligh'ts flashed on the glittering 
doublet and jewelled baldrick of Sir lioland Vipont, as he 
sprang blithely-in. 

“Heaven keep you. Lady Ashkirk, and you, my dear Jane, 
and all fair ladies !” said he, bowing, and kissing all their 
hands. “ Hail to thee, merry Alison, and thou, my sad little 
Sybil ! why, I have not been long absent, and yet thou seemest 
quite a woman now !” 

“Welcome home — a thousand welcomes to thee, Roland, 
and a thousand more !” said the countess, forgetting her 
starched dignity in her native kindliness of heart, and kissing 
him on the forehead — for though he was tall, they were nearly 
of a height — while Jane grew pale with excitement, and then' 
blushed with pleasure to see her suitor looking so handsome in 
his rich attire — browned by nine months’ exposure to a conti- 
nental sun, and appearing, if possible, more graceful and athle- 
tic than ever. “ Welcoihe, Roland,” continued the countess, 
passing her hand fondly over his broad, clear, open forehead, 
his arched eyebrows, and his thick glossy hair ; “ we have all 
heard how thou hast been proving thy prowess on the crests of 
king Francis and his knights, and letting the gay tilters of 
Paris and Versailles feel the weight of a tough Lowland spear 
in a true Scottish hand.” 

“True, madam,” replied the young man, laughing, and 
shewing a set of teeth which any of the fair beUes present 
might have envied ; “it would have gladdened your haughty 
Douglas spirit. Lady Ashkirk, to have seen king Francis with 
twenty Scottish Knights keeping the old wooden bridge of St. 
Michael at Paris for three 'days against our own king James, 


THE king’s advocate. 


27 


with the best chivalry of Burgundy, Brabant, and Alsace, and 
with all coiners who chose to try their hardiment against us. 
By my faith, sweet Jane, the knot of ribands your dear hands 
wove ill my helmet, were the mark of many a sword and many 
a spear during these three brawling days; but they seemed to 
]>ossess a charm, for thrust of lance and blow of blade were 
levelled at them in vain. Ihit what think ye of the new queen 
we have brought you home ? Is not the fair Magdalene a 
mirror of beauty ? and may not France and Scotland too be 
proud of her ? Jane, what sayest thou?” 

“ Hum !” said Jane, a little piqued at her^lover’s excessive 
admiration for the queen ; “ methinks she is very passable.” 

“Passable! Ah, surely you can afford to praise her more 
than that. I think she is like la belle laonde^ in Sir Thomas 
Malory’s ‘Romance of King Arthur,’” replied Vipont, drawing 
near Jane, while, as if instinctively, the other persons present 
withdrew to the extreme end of the apartment, and conversed 
with the countess. “Now tell me, thou merry wag, thy opinion 
of her.” 

“ I do not think her by one half so charming as my own 
little self,” replied Jane, archly; “and thou, who oughtest to 
have only eyes for me, should see' in her an exceedingly plain 
woman. When thou seemest so much pleased with her, what 
eurety have I that I was not forgotten by her admirer, amid all 
the gaieties, the fbtes, and splendour of king Francis’ court ?” 

“Forgotten, Jane 1” responded the young man, tenderly, while 
his dark eyes filled with a soft expression. “Those who see 
and love thee will never forget! Have not our hearts been 
entwined for years, and am I not thy gallant brother’s oldest 
and earliest friend ? Have we not grown together from infancy 
to childhood, from childhood to maturity ? and now, in the full 
flush of our love and joy, you hint that I might forget you !” 

“ I cry you mercy ! what an exordium ; 1 spoke but in pure 
raillery and jest, dear Roland.” 

“But why jest thus ? Ah no, my gentle Jane, never for an 
instant were your fair face and sunny smiles absent from my 
Diind, and their memory spurred me on to encounter a thousand 
difficulties, and enabled me to surmount a thousand dire 
temptations that beset the path of others ; and thus I am come 
back to you more loving, if possible, more true, and more 
iinpfissioned than ever !” 

“ Oh, Roland, I can believe it well !” sighed the girl, as her 
lover, borne away by the depth of his passion (though speaking 


28 


JANE seton; or, 


in a low voice), pressed both her hands to his heart, regardless 
that the eves of others saw them. 

“ Behold what I have brought you from this far-famed city 
of l^aris,” said he, as he clasped around her delicate throat a 
circlet of magnificent diamonds. 

“Ah! my poor Vipont,” exclaimed Jane; “you must have 
ruined yourself to brino^ me this. What a sum it must have 
cost 1” 

“ Eleonora of Austria, the queen of France and sister of the 
great Charles V., took it from her own fair neck and bestowed 
it on me as a gift for my Scottish bride ; and joyously I thought 
of you, Jane, when I knelt to receive it from her hands. It was 
at a passage of arms held near the Porte Papale, just without 
the walls of Paris, and on the festival of St Denis, when with a 
single lance I kept the barrier for an hour, successively pros- 
trating in the dust six Italian knights who had come to France 
in the train of the Milanese ambassador. By my faith, sweet 
fiower, I covered myself with glory and popularity that day ; 
for it so happened, that Sforza, duke of Milan, is the sworn foe 
of Francis I., and the hearts of the people were all with the 
victorious Scottish knight.” 

“And did king James see thee. Sir Roland?” asked the 
young ladies, who crowded round the delighted girl to observe 
her splendid gift. 

“ He sat by the side of queen Eleonora, and when the sixth 
cavalier was unhorsed, sprang up from his seat, and throwing 
his blue bonnet into the air, exclaimed, ‘ Now, God be with thee, 
my valiant Vipont, thou hast well sustained our Scottish name 
to-day, and I will never forget it.’ But his rewards ere yet to 
come, fair ladies,” added Vipont, as he sighed se<’.retly and 
glanced at Jane Seton. 

“Roland,” said the countess, who was beginning to reflect 
that she had been too long silent ; “ believe me, those who put 
their trust in princes are ever deceived. I heard our good king 
James IV. say so when I was but a girl.” 

“ He referred then to his brother-in-law of England whom 
the laws of neither God nor man could bind ; but judge not so 
of James V., lady. As yet I am but the captain of tiis ord- 
nance, with the pittance doled out to me monthly by the olerk 
of his exch3quer. Many a fair promise he hath made me of 
some small portion of those solid gifts— the towers and acres 
of wold and woodland, which he lavishes on Hamikon the 
Inquisitor, on Abbot Robert the Treasurer, his eminence tiie 


THE kino’s advocate. 


?d 


cardinal, and otliers, but, to our sad experience, Jane, we find 
them as yet unperformed.” 

Better it is that they are so,” said the countess, “ for then, 
as Beaton and the Abbot do, ye should brook the patrimonies 
of the proscribed and banished knights and nobles of my 
fathei’a name.” 

“ True, lady countess ; but James is so winning and cour- 
teous in manner, so generous and heroic in disposition, that no 
true Scottish man can behold him without feeling a glow of 
admiration and loyalty, and at times methinks I could lay 
down my life for him (ah ! I see thou boldest up thy finger), 
were it not, Jane, dedicated to thee. I could cheerfully battle 
to the death against all that are his enemies.” 

“ Even the Douglasses and the Setons of Ashkirk,” said the 
countess, coldly. “ Oh ! thou hast become an apt bravo of this 
commons’ king, I fear me.” 

“ Noble lady,” replied Roland, bitterly, “ there, as I take 
God to witness, thou taskest me sorely. I could not bend a 
v/eapon against the house of Douglas, for this dear being,” and 
he took Jane’s hand in his, “is the inheritor of their blood; 
and yet to fail the king even in that particular would be to 
prove me a mansworn knight and false traitor !” 

“Thou art ever by his side, Roland,” *said Jane, “and can 
say how he is affected towards us — the Setons of Ashkirk.” 

“ Implacable as ever! Thou rememberest, mine own ladyekin, 
of the solemn vow he swore, when, by the troopers of Angus, 
Sir David Falconer was slain by his side, under the ramparts 
of Tantallon — that solemn vow made above a crucifix and 
dagger, never while he lived to forgive a Douglas^ or one of tht 
Douglas' blood. There is no hope ; for that oath 1 know the 
king will keep, even though his holiness Paul III. should oftei 
to absolve him from it.” 

“ And let him keep it 1” said the countess, with bitterness and 
scorn ; “ it matters little. There are spears by the Liddle and 
archers in Douglasdale who may one day absolve him, as his 
grandsire was absolved on the field of Sauchieburn. Let us 
remember the deeds of that day, and the old prophecy that a 
lion should be killed by its whelps. The Master of Angus, the 
knights of Glenbernie, Drumlanrig, Lochlevin, and Kinross,” 
continued the countess, reckoning them on her fingers, “ with 
two hundred gentlemen of the surname of Douglas, all died at 
Flodden, beneath the banner of King James IV., and thus it is 
his son rewards us 1” 


so 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ Oh, lady countess, hush ; and pardon me, but there seenu 
something hateful in your hostility to James V.” 

“ By the Holy Rood and the blessed St. Bryde to boot ! I 
have no patience with thee, friend Roland. I warrant thee in 
secret a sworn foe to Angus.” 

“ On my honour, no 1” 

“ And my mind misgives me sorely anent ye and my daugh « 
t(u-, having both had the misfortune to be born on a Friday.” 

“I pray you hear me,” said Roland, with a secret smile. 
“ So happy was James on beholding the Scottish shore, that, in 
a burst of gratitude to heaven, and love for his people, he was 
not disinclined to relax those severe statutes under which the 
exiled peers and barons of the house of Douglas writhe and 
languish ” 

“ Sa^y writhe. Sir Roland, for I warrant me they will never 
languidi !” said the tall countess, folding her hands, sitting very 
upright, and looking disdainfully. 

“ Something might have been achieved by his eminence the 
cardinal Beaton, whom I know to be my friend, for I am come, 
like himself, of an old Fifeshire family — when lo ! the first barge 
from the shore brought a packet from Sir Adam Otterburn of 
Redhall, containing a woeful relation of raid, hership, and liame 
sucken, committed on the Knight of Cessford by the Earl of 
Ashkirk and a band of Northumbrian troopers whom he ha.» 
taken into pay. Alas ! lady, is this the verity ?” 

“ Not less so than just!” responded the countess, who shook 
every fold of her lofty head-dress with hauteur. “ Is not Cess- 
ford the hereditary foe of my son ; and God’s blood 1 Roland 
Vipont, why should his sword rest ? Nay, jny gallant Archi- 
bald, the moths will never eat the silk of that banner which 
these old hands wove thee !” 

Roland made no immediate reply to this outburst of the 
old Scottish spirit, but pressed the hand of Jane, and sighed. 

“ This event, however, is most unfortunate, Lady Ashkirk,’ 
he said, after a pause, addressing the countess, and looking with 
a sad smile at Jane. “ It will have a most serious efiect upon 
our fortunes and our happiness. On reading the letter of his 
advocate, James never spoke, but struck his sword upon the 
deck and turned sharply away from us. His look was darit as 
midnight.” 

“ Redhall was over-officious,” said the ladies. 

. “ The unmitigated fool 1” exclaimed the countess, shaking 
her clenched hand. “ I would my son were here.” 


THE king’s advocate. 


31 


“Mother of God— nay, at such a time as this?” said little 
Sybil, with her dark eyes full of tears. “And think you, Sii 
Roland, that Janies is really so much incensed ?” 

“ So much, that I came this night to visit you by — by 
stealth.” 

“ Stealth !” reiterated the fiery countess, rising to the full 
height of her five feet ten inches, exclusive of red-heeled shoes. 
“ Now marry come up and away with us ! Sir Roland Vipont, 
what will you have the assurance to tell me next ?” 

“ Forgive me, dear and noble lady ; thou knowest well how 
poor I am — how dependent on my sword and the precarious 
favour of a king surrounded by a host of needy and rival com- 
petitors. Had I lands and vassals, as I have not ; were I the 
son of a lord or baron instead of a poor gentleman archer of the 
Scottish Guard, it might have been otherwise with me — and 
thou, Jane, had long ere this” — he paused and pressed her hand. 
“ Oh, lady countess, my fate is not in my own keeping ; and 
too often have I felt -bitterly how abject a thing it is to be de 
pendent on the will of another, even though that other be a 
prince.” 

“ Thou hast thy rapier, Roland, and with the blood of that 
brave Vipont who brooked the appanage of Aberdour in the 
days of king David, dost inherit the spirit thy gallant father 
gave up to God from the battle field of Ravenno, when the 
Scottish Guard stood like a rampart around Gaston de Foix. 
Thou hast thy sword, Roland, and all the realms of Europe are 
before thee.” 

“ Yes,” replied Roland, mournfully ; “but then Jane Seton 
would be left behind.” 

“ Gallant Vipont, thou art indeed my other son !” said the 
countess, as she kissed his cheek and became quite pacified, 
while Jane’s bright face became radiant with pleasure. 

The countess and her niece, Sybil, with Alison Home and 
Marion Logan, knowing that they could now be spared, retired 
to prepare for that early supper of which our late dinners have 
now usurped the. place, and the lovers were left alone, seated 
together hand in hand, for the first time during nine long months. 

They were all eye and ear for each other, as they conversed 
in voices that were soft and low, and love carried them back to 
those days of gaiety and simplicity before the cold hand of eti- 
quette had interposed between them. Little Sybil closed the 
arras as she went out, and we have no wish, by raising it. tc 
oreak the spell that love and pleasure threw around them. 


82 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


CHAPTER IV. 

REDHALL. 

“ The will is free ; why must it then be curbed? 

1 would be happy, gain what I desire, 

Or feel each pulse throb pleasure in the chase — 

Yet this new teacher tells such pleasure is 
A fruit I must untasted shun.” 

Nimrod. Act III 

The apartment, which was half darkened, was partly tapestried 
and partly wainscotted. A stone fire-place, on grotesque 
columns covered with carved roses, destitute of grate (for 
grates were not then in fashion) and of fire, for the sea- 
son was summer, by its emptiness lent a somewhat dreary 
aspect to the chamber. The lioor was without carpet, for car- 
pets were almost unknown in Scotland till 1560 (three and 
twenty years after) ; the furniture was of massive oak. The 
well grated windows, which looked to the Friar Wynd, were 
conc-ealed by thick curtains, and gaudily-flowered tapestries 
framed in richly carved oak covered most part of the walls. A 
brilliant suit of armour, hanging upon a nail or steel hook, 
and a few shelves of gigantic folios bound in vellum, edged 
with red, and clasped with brass, were the leading features in 
this chamber. A sand-glass stood upon the table, for one was 
usually carried by fellows of colleges and other learned men 
about this period in lieu of a watch, as we may read in Aubrey’s 
Memoirs. 

A folio lay upon the black oak table, and on its closely 
written leaves the light fell from a ponderous iron lamp of 
a grotesque form covered by a circular shade. With his 
head reclined on one hand, and the other thrust into the 
breast of his black velvet doublet, the King’s Advocate sat 
dreamily and moodily immersed in deep thought, llis grave 
and classic face was of a clear olive complexion. His nose 
was perfectly straight, his eyes large, black, and sparkling, and 
his knit eyebrows now formed one complete arch above them. 
His smooth and lofty brow was expressive of deep thought, of 
watching and study, and even of tranquillity, though there were 
times when it could assume a terrible expression, and his keen 
dark orbs would fill with fire, and every hair of his short mus- 
taches bristled with passion. His mouth was decidedly his 


THE king’s advocate. 


39 

worst feature ; but his short beard concealed those thin lip? 
which Lavater considered the infallible sign of a mind preg- 
nant with evil. His aspect was lofty and severe, and his eye 
was so penetrating that few could sustain the fire and inquiry 
of its glance. 

The pages of the Forest L'nos, written by king William tha 
Lion, lay before him, but his eyes were fixed on his jewelled 
poniard that lay on the table close by, showing how his mind 
wandered trom the subject he had sat. down to stu«ly to 
the irate promptings of jealousy and revenge. 

For Jane Seton, Sir Adam Otterburn and Roland Vipont 
had long been rivals; at least so the former had viewed the 
latter, who had neither dreaded him nor feared his intentions, 
for such was his confidence in the love and truth of Jane ; yet 
he had nothing to rely on but his sword and the somewhat 
precarious favour of James V., while Redhall was the proprietor 
l>f a strong baronial fortalice, a noble domain situated a few 
miles south of the city, and as lord advocate of Scotland was a 
powerful officer of state, then armed with more powers and ter- 
rors than any ten inquisitors of the Holy Office. His position 
was most honourable, and in virtue of it he was always 
addressed My Lord.” His knowledge of law was little, but 
his privileges were great; he was permitted to sit covered 
within the bar of the Court of Session like a peer of the realm, 
and he had the power of issuing warrants for searching, appre- 
hending, imprisoning, and putting to the torture any person in 
Scotland — his warrants being valid as those of the king. 
Such was Roland’s formidable competitor for the hand of 
Jane Seton, to whom the young cavalier would have been 
wedded fully two years -before the time in which this his- 
tory opens, but for the fear of forfeiting king James’s favour, 
and the implacable hostility of that prince to the house of 
Douglas, which formed an insuperable barrier to any of the 
court favourites who might be disposed (which few of them 
were) to form alliances with any noble family of that obnoxious 
surname. 

Aware of this, Otterburn, whose landed possessions rendered 
him happily independent of James’s frowns or favour, had re- 
doubled his assiduity and attentions, never once permitting the 
hope to die, that Jane might ultimately regard him with favour 
During the nine months’ absence of the master of the ordnance 
in France with king James, the addresses of Otterburn had been 
as unmistakeable as they were obnoxious to the young lady , 


34 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


who, seeing in him only the great public prosecutor of her own 
and mother’s family, viewed him with horror and hostility, 
though she dismissed him with a cold but cautious politeness, 
that, strange to say, while it eclipsed his hopes, in no way ex- 
tinguished his ardour. 

From that time forward he could visit her no more, but his 
inborn obstinacy of spirit and indomitable vanity would not 
admit of his totally resigning her — especially during the 
absence of Vipont, against whose safe return there were many 
chances, during the escapades and broils, the midnight rambles 
and madcap adventures, in which he ani the king were con- 
stantly involved. For a time, Otterburri had again given way 
to the illusions of hope and the impulses of his heart; but now 
the safe and sudden return of his brilliant rival had swept them 
all away, together with a thousand bright day dreams, as a 
breeze does the gossamer webs ; and the strong mind of the 
statesman and the judge became a prey to anxious jealousy and 
furious hatred. 

“ As a rainbow fades from the sky so has this bright vision 
passed from before me !” he exclaimed, as he sti-uck his hands 
together, and looked upward with something of despair. In 
his better moments he felt only grief, when his more generous 
impulses would prompt him to resign Jane Seton in peace to 
her more favoured lover. 

“Were she mine,” he mused, with a face that became alter- 
nately sad and mournful, or dark and saturnine, “ her happiness 
would be my only object ; then why should I seek to mar it 
because she is not ? By what glamour can this mere girl, 
who never once thought of me othei’wise than as the persecutor 
of the Douglasses, fascinate me thus, swaying my heart, my 
soul, my every purpose — being the object of every effort — the 
inspire!’ of every thought ? How cometh it that her coldness, 
her disdain, her hate (nay, she is too gentle for that)^ all serve 
but to increase my love ? Oh ! ’tis sorcery ! ’tis sorcery ! . . . 
Oh ! in how many a long and weary night I have pressed a 
|)illow sleeplessly, and courted slumber, but in vain ? How 
often have I tried to rend her image from my heart, to sup- 
plant it by another, and in vain. I have recoiled from that 
other with disgust, as the more winning image of Jane came 
before me; and yet she loves me not. How often have 1 
fruitlessly striven to crush this mad and besotting passion, and 

to nourish only hatred, indifference, or revenge 

God help me ! 1 am very miserable. And shall I resign her 


THE king’s \DV0CATE. 


»5 


X) the arms of this upstart favourite, this cut-throat cannoneer, 
and gilded hireling of king James — resign her without a strug- 
gle — 1, who am so immeasurably his superior in fortune, mind, 

and purpose? — Never! How strong this passion of 

love is I How noble, and for how glorious a purpose has God 
implanted it in our hearts ; but oh, may few endure like me to 
love an object that loves another, and yieldeth no return. Let 
dotard monks and deceived misanthropes, let stoics and philo- 
sophers say what they will, there is more magic and power in 
the single smile of a woman than in all the impulses of the 
human heart put together. Ambition dazzles, hatred sways, 
and revenge impels us — they are powerful incentives, and their 
triumph is delicious — but love is greater than all. Generosity 
urges me to leave her to the fool she loves — to avoid her path, 
her presence, and her spells for ever ; but passion, obstinacy, 
and infatuation, lead me on, and overwhelming every gentler 
sentiment, impel me to the pursuit. Shall I then be baffled 
and foiled by this poor cater})illar, whose wings have expanded 
in the brief sunshine of royal favour — this silken slave — this 
Jioland Vipont, who, not six years since, wore an iron hongre-. 
line and brass plate, as a mere French cannoneer, under Vaud- 
mont and' the Marslial Lautreque — never 1 And, by the holy 
arm of St. Giles ! this night shall end our rivalry for ever 1” 

Thus said, or rather thought, Redhall ; and suddenly pausing 
he snatched up a long metal whistle, that lay always at hand, 
and blew a shrill call. 

Almost immediately afterwards the arras was lifted, a man 
entered, and making a respectful obeisance, stood ut a little 
distance. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE WITCH-PRICKER. 


“ Flam. Malicious fortune ! 

Mnob. Now thou seest iny meaning . ' 

Boadicea. 

The personage who appeared was a short thickset and bandy- 
leo-cred man, whose malformation his chocolate coloured stock- 
in'Jrs and white cloth breeches displayed to the utmost advan- 


JANE SETON ; OR, 




tage. He had a neck and chest like a bullock, with the sinistei 
visage of a thorough-paced ruffian. In size, his head and hands 
were altogether disproportioned to his body ; his hair, beard, 
and mustachioes, which appeared to have been preserved 
sacred from comb and scissors, were all woven into one matted 
mass, which was of the deepest black ; while drinking and 
exposure to the weather had bronzed his skin to an almost 
oriental blackness. He wore a plain frock or gaberdine oi 
white Galloway cloth, confined at the girdle by a broad calf- 
skin belt and steel buckle, in which he carried a long dirk or 
knife. He wore rough brogues of brown leather on his broad 
splay feet, and a small rosary of oak beads which dangled at 
his left wrist evinced his wish to be deemed a respectable mem- 
ber of society ; but arrogance, cunning, and brutality, were 
powerfully depicted on his otherwise stolid visage, which had 
a very repulsive squareness of aspect, two enormous ears, and 
a great mastiff" mouth. 

This worthy was Nichol Birrel, the brodder or witch- 
pricker of the newly established high court of justiciary, 
one of the most unscrupulous and atrocious ruffians that ever 
occupied this important, and, in after years, lucrative situa- 
tion. 

Born and bred a vassal on the estate of the lord adyocate, 
to whom he was intensely devoted, he had obtained the place 
of prover or witchfinder, as it peculiarly suited his ruffianly 
and sanguinary disposition. Several other minor officials of 
the new court were, like him, the immediate and devoted de- 
pendents of Redhall, for whom they acted as bravoes on a 
hundred occasions. Nichol, though cruel, false, bitter, and 
treacherous to all the rest of mankind, was true, faithful, and 
sincerely a friend to his lord and benefactor ; for he seemed to 
be possessed by the same instinct which attaches a ferocious 
hound to the hand that feeds him. 

“ Od save us, my lord, ye look ill ! Is there aught the mat- 
ter wi’ ye ?” he asked gruffly. 

“ Nichol, is there none in attendance on me but thee ?” 
asked the advocate, without regarding his inquiry ; “ where 
are all the servitors ?” 

“ At the palace, seeing the merry masquers.” 

“ Mass ! where I should have been but for this accursed 
sickness, which, to-night, hath fallen so heavily upon me. It 
matters not; I am invited by the lord chamberlain to the fete 
of to-morrow.” 


THE king’s advocate. 


37 


“ Ye look worse to-night, Redhall, than I have seen ye since 
Lententime.” 

“ I arn sick at heart, Nichol.” 

“ I have been so at the stomach many a time and oft, when 
I mixed my ale with usquebaugh, but as for the heart ” 

“ Psha !” exclaimed the advocate, starting abruptly, “ either 
my brain is under the influence of insanity, or there is a spell 
of soi'cery upon me.” 

“ Dost suspect any ill-woman of being the cause thereof, Sir 
Adam ?” asked the brodder, whose eyes began to twinkle in 
anticipation of a pricking fee, while his square mouth expanded 
into a grin. 

“No, no ; I spoke but in metaphor, and suspect none.” He 
paused. “ Thou sawest the procession to-day ?” 

Nichol nodded his vast head affirmatively. 

“ Didst mark any man there whom ye knew to be my 
enemy ?” 

“ I marked his eminence the cardinal, who confined a damo- 
sel of yours, among his other ladies, in the auld tower ot 
Creich.” 

“ Tush !” 

“ I observed the lord abbot of the Holy Cross, who won his 
plea against thee anent the duty on every cart entering the 
barriers of the town.” 

“ Thou triflest ! didst mark no one else ?” 

“ Well, then, I marked the master of the king’s ordnance, 
shining in cloth of gold and crammasie.” 

“ Good ! — anything more ?” 

“ I saw him smile as he curvetted, in his bravery, past the 
ladies of Ashkirk,” replied Nichol with a cunning leer, while 
the advocate gnashed his teeth ; “ and sweetly the Lady Jane 
smiled on him again. It was a braw sight and a brave ; and a 
glide ransom the roaster’s doublet and foot-cloth would have 
been to any bold fellow that met him in the gloaming by Leith 
Loan or the Burghmuia- ; for they were pure cloth of gold, and 
champit with pearls, so that marvel not the Lady Seton 
smiled so brightly ; for, if love maketh a woman’s eye bright, 
gold will make it brighter.” 

“ Thou art a mercenary slave !” said the advocate bitterly; 
“and never felt the passion of which thou talkest so glibly. 
Nichol, have I not been to thee ever a friend rather than a lord 
and master — kind, indulgent, and liberal ” 

“ When service was to be performed,” said Nichol, paren- 


38 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


tbetieally, dosing one of his yellow eyes with another hideous 
leer. 

“ At all times, Nichol,” continued the king’s advocate, strik- 
ing his heel sharply on the ground. “ Thou knowest that the 
master of the ordnance and I have long been at deadly feud 
about — but it recks not thee about what.” 

“ Say Jane Seton of Ashkirk, my lord, and you will shoot 
near the mark.” 

Redhall’s eyes flashed, and he made a fierce gesture of im- 
patience, for he disliked to hear her name, in the mouth of this 
ruifian, whom he despised while he fed and fostered him. 

“ It is enough, Nicliol Birrel — thou understandest me — the 
'master of the ordnance bars my way ; this must not be, and 
shall not be.” 

There was a pause. 

“ Well, Sir Adam ?” growled the pricker. 

“ Thou hast thy poniard,” said the knight, hoarsely. 

“ Ay,” replied the ruflian, as a broad grin expanded his mas- 
tifi' mouth, and his great teeth appeared like a row of fangs 
through his matted beard ; “ ay, the same gude knife with 
which I slew Maclellan, the Knight of Bombie, at the north 
door of St. Giles’ kirk. By one backhanded stroke I dashed it 
into his heart, and he fell with his rosary in his uplifted hand, 
the name of God on his lips, and the half signed cross on his 
brow, yet they saved him not.” 

There was a pause, for Birrel, who had commenced in 
a tone of ruflian irony, ended in a dismal quaver, and grew 
pale. 

‘■Wretch and fool !” cried the lord advocate, “why remind 
me of that ?” 

He gave his dependent a terrible glance. 

“ I crave pardon, Sir Adam ; but when I bethink me that 
this Sir Thomas of Bombie had the lairds of Achlane, Glensh- 
annoch, and Boiirg, with nine other knights of his surname to 
avenge him, I surely ran some risk.” 

“The Lords of Drumlanrig and Lochinvar were said, by 
common rumour, to have slain him, and so let it be ; he was a 
foe of the house of Otterburn,” hissed the advocate through his 
teeth, “and of the faction to which that house adhered; a foe 
to me in particular, and as such must Vipont, the accursed 
Vipout, die.” 

Nichol uttered a sound between a growl and a laugh. 

“ Are Bobbie the doomstcr, and Sanders the torturer below I 


THE king’s advocate. 


39 


I warrant they will be snoring, like gorged hounds, by the 
kitchen ingle.” 

“ No, they are birling tlieir cans in the buttery.” 

“ Then see to this affair ; but dost think we can rely on them V' 

“ Like myself. Sir Adam, they and their forbears have been 
leal men and true to the house of Redhall, and wherefore would 
they fail it now ? We are the servants of the law, and what 
matters it whether we v.tring this soldier of the king in a tow 
at the cross, or pink him in the dark ? ’tis death, any way 
and here the fellow uttered a ferocious laugh again. 

“ For your own sakes and mine be secret, sincere, and sure.” 

The pricker touched his knife, bowed, and raising the arras, 
dropped it again, and shaking his matted head, paused irreso- 
lutely. 

“ What is it now ?” asked Redhall, taking the purse from his 
girdle. “ Money ?” 

“No, no. Sir Adam, I never served ye for siller, but as my 
bounden duty ; so I crave leave to remind ye that the place of 
forester up at Kinleith and Bonallie is vacant, and my sister’s 
son, Tom Trotter, a deadly shot with bow and hackbut ” 

“ Enough ; thy sister’s son shall have the place of forester ; 
and, for thee, methinks that the master’s cloth of gold and dia- 
mond baldrick might serve for that, and to procure absolution 
to boot for the three of ye.” 

“We care not for that. Sir Adam,” replied the pricker, “for 
we are among those who have seen the new light.” 

“ And believe not in the delegated power of the priesthood ; 
eh, is it so ?” 

Birrel nodded. 

“ Then why earnest thou that great rosary ? I vow it looks 
like a fetter on thy wrist.” 

“ As a blind.” 

“Lollards, Wickliffites — ha! ha! these new preachers of 
schism and heresy have made three creditable proselytes ; yet, 
for thy soul’s sake, Nichol (and there was a very perceptible 
sneer in the advocate’s face as he said this), I hope thou art a 
true Catholic at heart ; but away to thy comrades, for the night 
wears on,*and Vipont hath not yet left the bouse of the Setons, 
for I have not heard the hoofs of his horse. To-morrow,” 
continued Redhall, with a ghastly expression of ferocity, “to- 
morrow ” 

“He shall be either in Catholic purgatory or Protestan 
bell,” grinned the pricker, as ho raised the arras and retired. 


♦0 


JANE SETON ; DE, 


The ghastly smile yet played upon the thin lips of Red 
hall. 

“ To-morrow I shall be freed of these fears, and for ever,” he 
mused ; “ but at no distant period I must rid me of those three 
bloodhounds, who have stuck .like burs to my skirts since first 
I took upon me this unhappy office of advocate to the king. 
Ha, and so they are heretics ! Let them serve my purpose in 
this, and ere another week hath passed the cardinal shall have 
them under his inquisitorial eyes, and the stake will rid me and 
society of them for ever. Vippnt, beware thee, now, for this 
night shall be the darkest in the calendar for thee and for 
thine !” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE ILLUMINATED SPIRE. 

“ Our pathway leads but to a predpice ; 

And all mast follow, fearful as it is ! 

From the first step ’tis known ; but — no delay ! 

On, ’tis decreed. We tremble and obey.” 

Rogers, Human Life. 

Twelve had tolled from the spire of the Netherbow Port, ere 
Vipont came forth from the Ashkirk Lodging, as the mansion 
was named (like other hotels of the Scottish noblesse), and 
taking his horse, rode through the archway. His heart, was 
beating lightly, for the gentle pressure of a soft hand yet seemed 
to linger in his, and the kiss of a warm little lip was on his cheek. 
His breast was filled with joy, and his mind with the happiest 
anticipations of the future. 

There was to be a grand masque or fete given by queen 
Magdalene to the ladies of the nobility on the night of the 
morrow, and Roland had resolved that an invitation should be 
sent to the ladies of Ashkirk, even should he beg it in person 
of the fair young sovereign; and full of pleasure at the con- 
templation of how his beautiful Jane would outshine all her 
compeers, and how surely James, when he saw her, would recal 
all his edicts against the Setons of Ashkirk, he put spurs to his 
horse, and, stooping low, made him clear the archway with ou^ 
bound. 


THE king’s advocate. 


41 

The mo-m was up, and it rolled through a clear and starvj 
Bky. A few light and fleecy clouds that slept afar oft' in the 
bi'ight radiance, seemed to float above the grim dark summits 
ot the city, whose clusters of close piled mansions, turretted, 
gabletted and crowstepped, tall and fantastic, stark and strong, 
started up ghostlike out of the depths of street and wynd, and 
stood in bold outline against the clear cold blue of the midnight 
sky. 

As Roland left the archway, three dark figures, which he had 
not observed, shrunk close together ; and when he issued forth, 
followed him with stealthy steps. They wore short black man- 
tles, and had their bonnets pulled well over their faces ; but 
though they lurked on the shadowy side of the street (which 
the bright light above rendered yet darker), the haft of a 
poniard, or knife, glittered at times under their upper garments, 
as they followed the master of the ordnance cautiously and 
softly, like cats about to spring on a mouse, and as noiselessly, 
for they were shod with felt, or some such material, that muftied 
their footsteps. 

Vipont was about to descend towards the palace, near wliic-h 
he lived, in St. Anne’s-yard, when a column of light in the west 
made him pause, and turn towards the centre of the town. A 
ball of fire was burning on the summit of St. Giles’ steeple, and 
having heard that it was to be illuminated in honour of the 
queen’s arrival and king’s return, he resolved to see this unu- 
sual display ; and riding up the Canongate to the strong barrier 
which separated the greater from the lesser burgh, he gave his 
horse to the care of the under warder of the porte, and from 
thence walked up the iligh-street with his long rapier under 
his arm. 

The hour was late, but many persons were abroad, and the 
windows were so full of faces, all gazing at the great tower of 
St. Giles, that even had Vipont known that three assassins were 
on his track and only seeking an opportunity to plunge their 
poniards in his heart, he would not have felt much alarm. 

The airy lantern of this magnificent church is formed hy 
eight ribs of stone that spring from beautiful corbels, and meet- 
ing far above the bartizan of the great rood-spire, support a 
spacious gallery and lol'ty pinnacle, forming altogether an 
architectural feature of remarkable beauty, and which (save the 
church of St. Nicholas at Newcastle) is entirely peculiar to 
Scotland. It is a complete gothic diadem of stone. The rich 
crockets on the arches rise tier above tier and represent the 


12 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


pearls; the paiapets from which they spring, with their row of 
quatrefoils, being in place of the circlet. The whole of this 
structure had been covered with variegated lamps, which had 
been brought from Italy, and were hung by the taste and skill 
of Father St. Bernard, one of the prebendaries, to the wonder 
and astonishment of the simple-minded citizens. As yet they 
were unlit, but a single light, we have said, was burning on the 
upper pinnacle, like a large red star, and to this every face was 
turned. 

The stone crown of the cathedral was all in dark outline ; a 
faint light shone through the large stained window at the east 
end, and the tapers flickered at the shrine of Our Lady that 
stood close by. Save these, all the vast church with its rows 
of massive buttresses and pointed windows was immersed in 
gloom, though the moonlight silvered the edges of the crock- 
etted pinnacles. Suddenly a volume of light burst over the 
whole ; the ball of fire which had been burning steadily, threw 
out a million of spai-kles which fell like a haze of brilliance 
over the arches of the spire, lighting up the diminutive lamps 
in rapid succession, until the whole structure seemed bathed in 
one broad sheet of coloured flame. The groined arches, the 
carved pinnacles, and all the airy tracery of the spii'e, were as 
plainly visible in their beautiful and grotesque detail as if the 
beholders had been close to them, instead of being a hundred 
and sixty feet below ; while the lamps of variegated glass^ pro- 
duced the most extraordinary variety of light and shadow. 

The devils, dragons, and other stone chimeras that projected 
from the battlements of the clerestory were all tipped with fiery 
red or ghastly blue light, and seemed to be vomiting flames ; 
every pinnacle and tower of the cathedral stood forth in strong 
outline, one half being bathed in brilliant light, and the other 
sunb in black shadow, while a myriad prismatic hues were 
thrown upon the upturned and countless faces of the gaping 
crowds who occupied the streets below, and the windows 
around. Into the far depths of many a close and wynd, on the 
square tower of St. Mary-in-the-Field, on the clustered Bastel- 
houses of the castle, on the spire of the Netherbow, and square 
belfreys of the Holy Cross, on all the countless roofs and chim- 
neys of the town, the light fell full and redly, scaring even the 
coot and the swan among the sedges of the Burghloch, and the 
eagle and the osprey on the lofty craighs of Salisbury. 

Cries of astonishment and delight wore heard from time to 
time, mingled with the murmurs of the wondering and tha 


the king’s advocate. 


43 


fearful, who, in accordance with the taste and superstition ot 
tlie age, were, as usual, inclined to atti’ibute the taste and skill 
which dictated this illumination to sorcery, simply because it 
was beyond their comprehension. 

“ Y e say true, my lord abbot,” said a voice near Roland ; “ 1 
have had mine own suspicions anent the fact.” 

“ I have always secretly suspected this Father St. Bernard 
was a sorcerer; he studied at Padua and Salamanca, where 
there is more kenned of devilrie than theologie.” 

“ He is confessor of the Countess of Ashkirk.” 

“ Who hath a familiar, in the shape of a black page, anent 
whilk my lord advocate and I have had several conferences — 
but hush !” 

Roland did not hear these last observations, which passed 
between the Abbot of Kinloss and one of the ten advocates of 
the new court. 

Intent on the beauty of the illumination, Roland Vipont saw 
not the three muffled men who still dogged him, and from be- 
hind the grotesque columns of a stone arcade, which still stands 
opposite the old church (but is completely obscured by modern 
fchops), were intently observing his motions while keeping their 
own concealed in shadow. 

Having been long absent from his native capital, he gazed 
with admiration on the beautiful effect produced upon its pic- 
turesque and fantastic architecture, and he was just wishing 
that the ladies he had left were with him, to see this new and 
magnificent spectacle (which in their happiness he and Jane 
had completely forgotten), when several strong hands were laid 
violently upon his cloak and belt; he was suddenly dragged 
from the street, and hurried backwards nearly to the foot of one 
of those dark, narrow, and then solitary closes that descended 
abruptly towards the artificial lake, enclosing the city on the 
north. 

So steep was the descent, and so sudden the impetus he re 
ceived, that before Sir Roland could offer the least resistance, 
he was beaten to the earth, and the blow of more than one 
poniard struck sparks of fire from his tempered corslet. 

Now deadly was the struggle that ensued ; but the three 
ruffians, in their very eagerness to destroy him, impeded and 
wounded each other ; and though prostrate on the pavement, 
with his poniai-d under him, the knees of one bent on hia 
breast, and the hands of another pressing on his throat, which, 
happily, was encircled by a thick ruff', Roland resisted man- 


44 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


fully, his great natural strength and activity being increased 
by despair and rage/ Grasping one by the ruff, he twisted it 
so as nearly to strangle him, and paralyze the efforts of his 
right hand, which brandished a long and double edged poniard, 
that gleamed ominously in the dim light of the alley. 

“ God defend me !” he panted ; “ must I perish here like a 
child, or a woman ? Release me, villains, or Rwill spit you all 
like rabbits. Ho, armour ! armour ! treason and rescue !” 

“No help is nigh thee !” answered Nichol Rirrel, with his 
hyaena-like laugh ; “ but, curses choke thee, take thy hand 
from my throat !”. and he raised his arm for the death-stroke, 
but Roland caught his descending hand by the wrist, while 
with a blow of his foot he hurled the third assailant, Sanders 
Screw, to the very bottom of , the close. A. howl from Birrel, 
at the same moment, announced that his companion had 
wounded him again, a mistake which raised his demon-spirit 
to a frightful pitch ; and furiously he strove to free his wrist, 
and stab Roland between the joint of his corslet and gorget, 
llis eyes filled with a yellow light; he panted rather than 
breathed ; he seemed no longer a man, but a devil ! 

Suddenly Roland found this maddened assailant had become 
too strong for hiiU'; and once again, but more feebly (for he 
had received a wound in the shoulder), he cried — 

“ Amour and rescue !” 

“Knight and gentleman though ye be,” panted Birrell — 
“ by hell ! I will have thy blood for mine ! Strike again, 
Dobbie, thou coward’ and dog ! Ho, my gay cannoneer, ye are 
as a dead man now !” 

“ Thou liest, villain ! take that /” cried a voice ; and he re- 
ceived a blow from a staff which hurled him to the earth. 
Roland sprang up with a heart full of fury and his sword 
unsheathed ; but his two remaining assailants rushed down 
the close, and disappeared along the rough bank of the loch 
before his confusion and giddiness would admit of his following 
them. 

“ By St. John, my good friend,” said he, adjusting his mantle 
and rut}', “ thou comest at a critical time ; a moment later 
had seen my corslet riddled.” 

“ Ay, and your doublet slashed after the comely Douglas 
fashion,” replied his preserver, whose ])lain c-oarse garb, as well 
as tlie knotty cudgel he carried, announced him a countryman 
or peasant. 

“ Good fellow, I owe thee ray life,” said Roland, taking his 


THE RING 8 ADVOCATE. 


45 


purse from his girdle, “ and would gladly yield some adequate 
recompense. IJere, I fear me, there are but few Flemish 
ryders, and still fewer golden lions.” 

“Tush !” replied the other, with a laugh, as he drew himself 
haughtily up ; “ dost offer money to me ? Roland Vipont, hast 
thou quite forgotten me ? I am Archibald Earl of Ashkirk.” 

“ Ashkirk !” reiterated Roland, in a faint whisper, as if he 
feared the very stones of the street would hear him. “ My 
rash lord and friend,” he adde<l, taking the earl’s hands within 
his own, “ you know the risk of entering the gates of Edin- 
burgh ?” 

“ Bah ! — my head ; but who will venture to take it ?” 

“ There is a price set upon it, nevertheless.” 

“ A thousand merks of Scottish money ?” 

“ True : might I not be false enough to win this sum, so 
tempting to a soldier ?” 

“ Nay, friend Roland, for then thou wouldst lose my sister 
Jane.” 

“ Lord earl, if discovered by any other than myself thou art 
lost.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but I shall take particular care to prevent all 
discovery.^ In fact, I mean to live for awhile m king James’s 
own palace, where I do not think my enemies will ever dream 
of looking for me. The king’s lances, and the riders of the 
east, west, and middle marches, have scoured the whole land 
for me, from Tweedmouth to Solway sands. Besides, I am 
resolved to see my mother, the countess, and my sister Jane, 
and endeavour to persuade my dear little Sybil to sojourn 
with me awhile at the court of England ; for though it boasts 
of dames as fair as the world can show, I long ever for the 
black eyes and gentle voice of my quiet little cousin. Dost 
comprehend ?” 

“ Rejoiced as I am to see you. Lord Ashkirk, for the memory 
of our old friendship, I would rather you were a thousand 
miles hence than standing to-night in the streets of Edinburgh.” 

The young noble laughed heartily. 

“ Melhinks, Sir .Captain of the Ordnance, it was fortunate 
for thee that I was not even one mile from this when those 
ruffians had thee at such vantage ; but dost know wherefore 
they beset thee so ?” 

“Nay, not I; they were some villanous cut-purses, doubt* 
less. Mass ! 1 gave one a rough kick in the belt that wil 

jure him of cloak-snatching for a time 1” 


4(5 


JANE seton; or, 


“ Nay, I opine more shrewdly thou art indebted to the thini 
man in Scotland for this affair.” 

“ The third, say you ? How ? — the first is the king.” 

“ The second ?” said the earl. 

“ His eminence the cardinal ; but the third — who is he ?” 

“ Wh® but Redhall, whom I would have sworn I heard one 
of these rogues cursing for sending them on such a devil’s 
errand.” 

“Redhall?” 

“ Ay, doubtless ; the great archpriest of judicial tyranny, 
the very spirit of oppression who sits brooding over the people 
and the peers of Scotland — he whose villanous panders are 
gorged and overgorged with gifts of escheat from our forfeited 
possessions, and are ever needy and inexorable.” 

“ Sayest thou so ? then by heavens I will have a sui-e assythe- 
ment of him for this.” 

“ What other assythement is requisite than a sword thrust ?” 

“ But, ’fore God ! I am in no way this man’s enemy,” replied 
Roland. 

“ All whom the king loves are his enemies.” 

“Still more so are those whom the king hates; witness his 
severe prosecution of the Douglasses. But we all know, my 
lord, that the friendship of a Scottish king is too often a fatal 
gift to his subjects.” 

“ Redhall’s ambition is inordinate as that of Beaton, blood- 
guilty as that of Finnart ; and his hatred is as that of the coiled 
up snake. By St. Bride ! I know not which I hate most,” 
exclaimed the rebellious earl, “ James Stuart or his minion 
advocate.” 

“ Hush, hush ! lord earl,” said Roland, as they slowly 
ascended the dark street, “for these words, if ever heard, 
would bring you to the scaffold ere the sun sets to-morrow.” 

“ 1 crave pardon,” replied the earl with angry scorn, “ I for- 
got that I spoke to a staunch adherent of this crowned oppres- 
sor of the Douglasses and their ally the house of Ashkirk.” 

“Noble earl, in this devotion to your mother’s princely house 
you wrong our generous king, who, on his happy return to the 
capital of his ancestors, intended to have recalled all the lords 
now banished for the rebellion of Angus, and would, ere this 
late hour, have done so but for your recent inroad from the 
south, which has closed and steeled his heart against you and 
against them ; and I know well that his able adviser, the stern 
Caidinal Beaton, devoted as he is to his country, and ever hav 


THE king’s advocate. 


47 


Lile to the graspmg and aggressive spirit of England, will leave 
nothing unsaid to fan the king’s vengeance and prompt his 
retaliation.” 

“ 1 need not to be told what all Europe says ; that James of 
Scotland allows himself to be led by the nose just as Kedlega 
and the old ruffs of his council please.” 

“ Redlegs ! soh ! a ceremonious title for his eminence ; 1 
pray God, you have not become tainted by the damning here- 
sies of this English Henry, who has so lonar been your patron. 
But where did your lordship intend to dispose of yourself to- 
night ?” 

“ Faith, I had not made up my mind ; for in every change- 
house I entered, a copy of that proclamation for my apprehen- 
sion was pasted over the chimney-piece ; so, fearing recognition, 
as the summer night was short and warm, I had resolved to 
sleep like a mosstrooper on the green brae yonder by the loch, 
when your cry summoned me to the rescue, and I am here.” 

“ ’Twas a bright thought, that of yours, about Holyrood,” 
said Vipont, “so, come with me to my apartment, for I know 
no place where you could be safer than in the very palace. 
None but the devil himself would dream of looking for you 
there^ under the king’s very nose.” 

“ But my disguise is somewhat unlike the finery of your 
court gallants.” 

“ Come with me to-night, and to-morrow we will think of 
something else.” ^ 

“ That will be necessary, for I am going to the queen’s 
masque.” 

“ What, thou ?” 

“Yes, I,” replied the madcap earl. “What seest thou in 
that ?” 

“ Thy discovery, arrest, condemnation, and execution ; for 
God’s sake, my lord, be not so criminally rash.” 

“ PYar not, I will never compromise thee.” 

“ I have no fear of that, but ” 

“ Fear nought else, then, for I have resolved to and woiHs 
are useless.” 

They had talked so long in the dark alley, that vvhen they 
issued from its archway into the street opposite the i hui'ch of 
St. Giles, the lights on the spire were all extinguished, and the 
crowd had dispersed. The whole facade of the edifice rose 
before them in dark outline, and the only, light that tipped its 
pinnacles was the slanting lustre of the brilliant moon, as she 


40 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


'P, ■■ 



\ 

seemed to sail to the westward through the pure blue of the 
star-studded sky. 

One o’clock rang from the Netherbow spire as Roland and the 
earl passed it, so that the events of this chapter occupied exactly 
an hour. 


CHAPTER VIT. 


TWO OFFICIALS. 


Pedro. Would to God it might be so I 
Thou twin to Satan, beautiful deceit ! 

I almost wish I’d never met with thee. 

Yet the scheme’s good — the scheme’s exceeding good. 

Edward the Black Prince. 


The lord advocate was sitting in his library or study, which 
we have already described to the reader. Reclined in a softly 
cushioned easy chair, he was gazing listlessly at the mass of 
papers that covered his writing-table, which was of grotesquely 
carved oak, and all of which he had to examine ; but thoughts, 
to him of a more vital interest, occupied his mind, and he 
recoiled with disgust from the every-day task of public busi- 
ness. More than an hour passed away, and the advocate still 
sat dreamily, with his docquets of inhibitions and arrestments, 
letters of law-burrowes, indictments, and other criminal papers, 
lying pell-mell among secret information sent him from his 
correspondents on the English borders and the Highland fron- 
tier among the turbulent islesmen of the west, and the intrigu- 
ing Douglasses nearer the capital. All these he had to peruse, 
to consider and consign to different portfolios, making com 
Trents and memorandums thereon, so as to have them all ready 
f r reavice at a moment’s notice, whenever the suspected noble 
baron, or burgess should be arrested and indicted before the 
uew and obnoxious court. 

The information lodged by enemies against each other was 
of the most diverse description. 

One baion lodged a secret complaint that another was medi- 
tating an inroad into England in time of peace ; that another 
had been selling cattle to the English contrary to law; while a 
third complained that for three weeks he had been besieged in 


THE king’s advocate. 


49 


his own castle, and battered by the cannon of a neighbouring 
feudatory. 

One burgess reported another for “ girnelling mair victual 
than was required tor his own sustenance,” against which there 
was then a wise law, that in these our days would have pressed 
heavily upon corn-factors, and other oppressors of -the poor; 
one had lost his horses, another his cattle, another his corn, 
and another his wife, all by dint of sword and spear; and there 
were innumerable complaints anent Highland sorners, border 
hamesuckers, and landless Egyptians, who forcibly quartered 
themselves in houses and villages, and dwelt there until every 
thing was eaten iip in girnel, byre, and barn. Among other 
papers were numerous informations against and warrants 
required for the arrest of Englishmen who had come into Scot- 
land without the safe conduct demanded and rendered neces- 
sary by the twelfth parliament of James II. ; for the prosecu- 
tion of those who slew the king’s lieges in street and roadway, 
and against others who slew hares in time of snow. Warrants 
against lairds for storming each other’s castles, and thieves who 
broke into farm dovecots ; and countless accusations of sorcery 
brought by the ignorant against those whose little discoveries 
and inventions would nuw, perhaps, have won for them patents 
from the crown, and fellowships of the Royal Society. 

The whole of the last night, and half of the next day, had 
passed without his bravoes having returned. 

The advocate began to fear that Vipont had proved victori- 
ous, and either killed or captured his assailants. In either case 
Redhall knew well suspicions would fall heavily upon_ himself, 
for ever since the murder of the Knight of Bombie, at the 
north door of St. Giles, he had borne a somewhat evil repute 
in the minds of many. He glared impatiently at a large dial- 
'tone on a house opposite ; it indicated the meridian, and he 
was about to buckle on his sword and poniard, preparatory to 
issuing forth in search of news, when heavy and irregular steps 
were heard ascending the stair ; a coarse and muscular hand 
made several ineffectual attempts to raise the arras, a movement 
which nearly caused the owner to topple over on his nose, and 
half scrambling in, Nichol Birrel, balancing himself on each 
leg alternately, and looking rather discomposed from the pota* 
tions and encounter of the past night, stood before his feudal 
lord and judicial patron. 

“ How now, thou presumptuous villain !” said Redhall, look 
ing round for his cane, “ is it thus thou appearest before me ?” 

4 


60 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


. “Ay, ay — just as you see,” hiccupped Nichol. 

“ Drunk 

“ Kather so, Sir Adam — that is — my lord ” 

“ Sot ! I verily believe thou wert born drunk. And where, 
then, is this Vipont now ?” 

“ 1 neither ken nor care, for he escaped us.” 

“ I am then to believe, sot and slug-a-bed, that with all thy 
boasting thou hast failed ?” 

“ Even so, in part.” 

“ Dog ! I will have your ears cut off for this.” 

“Bide ye there, Sir Adam,” said the ruffian, deprecati ugly, 
while he ground his teeth at his master’s anger, “ 1 have gien 
him a wound that he will carry to his grave ; but God’s piague 
on your feuds, Redhall, for in your service I have gotten a 
slash o’ the knuckles that shall gar me rue lang the last night.” 

“ Here is a pretty rascal !” exclaimed the advocate, almost 
beside himself with anger. 

“ I would some douce damsel said as muckle,” said this over- 
grown gnome, contemplating his visage with one of his frightful 
leers, in a -mirror opposite. 

“ Peace, fellow ! And thou livest to tell me that he actually 
escaped from three of ye ? He must be the very devil himself, 
this Roland Vipont! Have you all returned alive ?” 

“ All ; Nichol, Dobbie, and Sanders Screw — safe and sound, 
like the three kings o’ Cologne in the Black Friary up bye 
there.” 

Silence 1 ’tis blasphemy, this.” 

“ Murder at night, and blasphemy in the morning. Ewhow, 
sirs, but that d — d mum-beer was strong yesternight.” 

“ Thou gavest him a wound, thou sayest ?” resumed Redhall, 
whose strong and relentless mind was of that description which, 
when once it conceived an idea, would pursue its accomplish- 
ment to the very verge of the earth ; and moreover, feeling 
confident that those laws which he meted out so severely to 
others, could never recoil upon, or entangle himself, he did 
whatever he pleased. “ Was this wound a deep ^ne ?” 

“ So Dobbie swears, but he’s a gomeral body in these respects. 
Yet, if ye will it. Sir Adam, as monk or apothegar, or some- 
thing else, I may find my way to his chamber ere he is awake 
some morning, and probe the scar anew wi’ my poniard. Eyen 
gif I were ta’en in his chamber ’twouldna matter muckle, as no 
new scar would be seen, and blood flowing would be attributed 
to the auld gash.” 


THE king’s advocate. 


51 


“ ’Tis not a bad scheme, then see to it as you please ; but 
now I mistrust ye all, and think that, were I to tight him with 
my own more legal weapons, the pen and the parchment, he 
would assuredly be vanquished. We shall see,” mused the 
advocate ; ‘‘ I may have him one day before the lords on some 
desperate charge (he loves a lady of the Douglas faction), proofs 
ot conspiracy might soon be foisted up, and if we once had 
him under the hands of Sanders Screw ” 

Birrel mechanically felt for his steel needle. 

“ Nay,” said Kedhall, with a grim smile, as he observed this 
motion, “ Vipont is a mwe soldier, and thou knowest that a 
soldier is seldom deep or designing enough to be a conjuror. 
Now prythee, rascal, act soberly, and assist me to dress and 
truss my points with care ; for I am to dine with his eminence 
the cardinal and the lord bishop of Limoges to-day, and there- 
after we are all going to the queen’s masque at Ilolyrood. 
Bring me the last tatfety dress that was sent me from that 
French stallanger at the Tron, with my silver walking sword — 
and the little poniard — hath Hew the dalma.scar sent it from 
his booth in the Bow ? oh, here it is,” added Redhall, stepping 
into an apartment that opened off the library, and to which 
(as we may still see in old houses) there was an ascent of two 
or three steps. This was his dressing-room, and formed a 
square turret which projected on heavy stone corbels over the 
pavement of the Canongate. 

An antique mirror, imbedded in an oak frame, stood on one 
side; a basin stand furnished with a pewter basin and ewer 
(such 2Ls the Leith traders then brought out of Flanders) stood 
on the other ; and between them was a large cabinet, one dooi 
of which was open, showing the various laced dresses, doublets, 
gowms, ruffs and collars, mantles, tags, tassels, and aiguilettes, 
which made up the wardrobe of this official, whose ample 
judicial robe was carelessly thrown over a large high-backed 
chair, against which and on which vvere piled pieces of armour, 
swords, gloves, gauntlets, foils, poniards, and wh^elock-pistols ; 
showing, that though a civil officer of state, Redhall could 
assume the offensive as well as any swashbuckler or cavalier of 
his day ; and not many weeks had elapsed since, at the head 
of three hundred men-at-arms, he had been severely repulsed in 
an attempt to sack and burn the tower of his neighbour. Sir 
James Foulis, of Colinton, the lord clerk register. 

A jerkin of black velvet, with open sleeves of dark purple 
satin, embroidered all over with silver, black trunk breeches 


52 


JANE SETON , OR, 


slashed with purple silk, and black hose, with shoes round-toed 
and slashed, formed his principal attire. Over the close jerkin 
he threw a loose “ cassock coate” of black silk, the collar of 
which was tied by silver cords under his thick close ruff, and 
from thence it was open, though furnished with twenty-four 
buttons of Bruges silver. 

Over this he hung his shoulder-belt, which sustained a long 
and slender walking sword, having a hilt of curiously cut steel 
and silver net-work ; thus, everything about him was either dark 
or silver, save the solitary white feather which adorned his black 
velvet bonnet, and gave a smart and lofty bearing to his noble 
head, which a grave dark visage, piercing eyes, and fierce mous- 
tache completed. 

His ruffian dependent, who to his public official duties united 
the private one of valet, had scarcely given the last finishing- 
touch to this elaborate costume when the clatter of hoofs drew 
Redhall to the window, and he saw the master of the ordnance, 
with, his plumes waving, his polished corslet, his embroidered 
dress, and rich gold aiguilettes glittering in the sunshine, ride 
up the street. A tall, stout serving-man, clad in a half suit of 
ribbed armour, wearing that kind of close helmet which was 
then called a coursing-hat, and carrying over his shoulder a 
mighty two-handed wall-sword, nearly as long as himself, fol- 
lowed close at his heels, running as if for his life. 

(This armed valet was no other than the Earl of Ash- 
kirk.) 

Almost at the same moment, as if she had been watching for 
the sound of the hoofs, Jane Seton appeared at an opposite 
window, which she threw open. There was a radiant smile on 
her bright face as she kissed her hand to the handsome cavalier, 
who uncovered and bowed to his horse’s mane ; and there was 
a happy expression in his eyes, a gallant and adventurous air 
about him, that, with the splendour of his attire, failed not to 
impress even Redhall ; for, as Vipont saluted his charming mis- 
tress, the spirited animal he rode approached her sideways, 
keeping his front to the windows, curvetting, pranciiig, and 
shaking his flowing mane and the silver ornaments of the em- 
bossed bridle. 

“ St. Mary !” muttered the advocate, while he bit his thin 
lips, and a fierce smile twinkled in his eyes, “ how she welcomes 
him !-— an empty fool, who hath no thought beyond his ruffs 
and his aiguilettes, and who, though he hath scarcely a cross in 
his pouch, is doubtless ready to cut the throat of any man who 


THE kino’s advocate. 


53 


;1oul)ts him rich as Croesus, and able to purchase the three 
Lotliians.” 

Charged with an invitation secretly obtained fi-om the queen, . 
for the ladies of Ashkirk, Roland was in high spirits, for he had 
procured it through the influence of Madame de Montreuil, the 
governess of Magdalene ; and, with his face all smiles, he sprung 
from his horse and entered the mansion, 

Lady Jane disappeared from the window. 

Then Redhall ground his teeth, and turned furiously away, for 
then he knew that the happy lovers had met, and were together." 

He hurriedly left his house, and descending the Blackfriars 
Wynd to the Archiepiscopal Palace, a fragment of which is still 
prominent by its large octagon tower which overhangs the Cow 
gate, he was admitted by the cardinal’s armed vassals, or guards, 
at a low-browed doorway, surmounted by the coat armorial of 
Bethune and Balfour, over which was the broad-tasselled hat, 
which indicates a prince of the holy Roman empire. 

There, at dinner, Redhall heard from his friend, the abbot of 
Kinloss, the rumour which was then current in the city, that 
“ the master of the king’s ordnance had been most malapertly 
beset upon the Hiegait, by a party of the Douglas traitors,” 
from whom he had been only saved by a miraculous exertion 
of valour; for (as Buchanan relates) whatever happened in 
those days was invariably placed to the score of the Douglasses. 


CHAPTER VHI. 

THE queen’s masque. 

“ Old Ilolyrood rung merrily 

That night, with wassail, mirth, and glee : 

King James, within her princely towers. 

Feasted the chiefs of Scotland’s powers.” 

Marmion. 

A'ITENded by Ashkirk, who carried the tremendous sword be* 
fort mentioned, and was arrayed in clothes somewhat sad- 
coloured, but in fashion between those of a valet and esquiie, 
Roland, agitated by no ordinary fear and exultation, approached 
the illuminated hall of the palace — fear, because despite eveiy 
warning, the madcap noble insisted on accompanying him and 


JANE seton; or, 


64 


exultation, because Jane Seton and her companions were all tf 
be there ; though the haughty old countess had coldly declined^ 
on the plea of age and ill health, which, in reality, was caus(;d 
by dread of the risk so foolishly run by her son, whom she had 
implored, with tears, to seek shelter among his own vassals in 
Forfarshire, if he could not regain the court of England ; for 
the frontiei-s were said to be closely watched. 

With his doublet of cloth-of-gold, all dotted with seed pearls, 
a short purple velvet mantle, lined with yellow satin, dangling 
from his left shoulder, his gold aiguilettes, ruff, and sword, 
Roland had donned his best bravery, curled his dark locks, and 
pointed his mustachioes with particular care on this auspicious 
evening. He carried his bonnet in his hand, as they traversed 
the crowded courts of the palace ; and every minute he turned 
to look anxiously at Ashkirk, but his peculiar helmet, with its 
low peak, and the thick beard, which he had permitted to giow 
long for disguise, together with his bombasted doublet, com- 
pletely transformed him, and he marched behind, bearing his 
six-foot rapier with an air of imperturbable gravity. 

The gloomy and antique courts overlooked by grated win- 
dows and heavy roofs of stone, the cloistered passages and vast 
stone stairs of this ancient palace (which was burnt by the 
English) were lighted with numerous coloured lamps. The 
king’s guard, wearing their blue bonnets, stockings and doublets 
of scarlet, slashed and faced with black, and armed with pike, 
poniard, and arquebuse, formed two glittering lines from the 
palace gate to the main entrance, and from thence along the 
];>assages to the head of the grand staircase, where stood their 
captain, Sir John Forrester of Corstorphine, a handsome and 
reckless-looking young gallant, clad in the uniform colours of 
the guard (a jerkin of scarlet velvet, richly lined with Venetian 
gold), and having twelve short aiguilettes on each shoulder of 
his trunk sleeves, which terminated in steel gauntlets, for he 
wore his gorget, and, being on duty, had an esquire near him, 
who carried his helmet. 

Ilis lieutenant, Louis Leslie of Balquhan, in the Garioch, was 
similarly arrayed ; and both were remarkably elegant and 
military looking young men. 

“ Holy mass !” said Forrester, looking down the long staircase, 
here cometh Vipont and his new valet with the outrageous 
sword !” 

“ Fore God ! he looks like one of the twelve peers of Charle- 
magne,” said Leslie, with a loud laugh. 


THE king’s advocate. 


65 


Ho ! Vipoiit, where the devil didst steal that ancient 
paladine?” 

“ ’Vis the excalibur of King Ailhur he carries,” said Leslie. 

“’Tis the lance of Urganda the Unknown !” 

And the young men laughed aloud as their friend ascended 
the stair with his tall valet three paces behind. When he 
drew near Forrester playfully made a pass with his sword at 
Roland’s face, a second at his breast, and a third at his rutf 
keeping him down the stair. The cannoneer immediately 
unsheathed his rapier, and simply saying — 

“ Guard !” attacked his assailant in the same playful manner ; 
and they fenced for more than a minute, while Louis Leslie 
held his sides, and laughed boisterously on seeing that Vipont 
found the impossibility of ascending, and was beginning to lose 
his temper. 

The approach of Cardinal Beaton, who was surrounded by a 
large body of vassals wearing his own livery, put an end to this 
dangerous frolic; and though openly saluted by the king’s 
soldiers, the cardinal’s guards were secretly greeted with 
haughty and supercilious glances as they marched between the 
douWe ranks that led to the foot of the grand staircase, jostling 
as they ascended the train of Sir Thomas Clifford, the ambassa- 
dor of England — a country which the cardinal abhorred politi- 
cally and religiously. 

Hai'kee, Forrester,” said Roland, as he passed ; “ have the 
ladies of Ashkirk arrived yet ?” 

“Yes, some ten minutes ago. I was thunderstruck to see 
them !” 

“ Wherefore ?” 

“ Hast thou not heard the rumour ?” 

“ Of wliat ?” 

“That the Earl of Ashkirk is among us here, in the good 
town of Edinburgh.” 

“ Twenty devils ! dost thou say so ?” 

“’Tis a fact — on some treasonable mission from English 
Henry — at least, so sayeth my lord advocate.” 

Roland’s blood ran altei-nately hot and cold. 

“This demon advocate hears of everything!” said he to the 
earl, as they passed along the corridor. “ My God ! lord eark 
if discovered ” 

“ Thou canst save me perhaps,” said the earl, who was him- 
self a little alarmed. 

“If not?” 


D 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ I can die then, with my sword in my hand,” replied the 
earl, through his teeth. “But art thou not rich in the favour 
of this holiday king ?” 

“ In that alone ; otherwise, I am poor enough, God wot.” 

“ Thy father left thee ” 

“ His sw'ord, his arms, and motto — nothing more. The first 

here at my side — the second, I know by heart, having nought 
e’so whereon to grave them — gules, six annulets or.” 

“ Tush ! thou wilt build thee a castle some day, and put the 
crest above the gate.” 

“ A swan’s head winged, rising from a ducal coronet — ha ! 
ha ! my father was a soldier, and poor, as we soldiers always 
are.” 

“’Tis a mad-cap adventure, this I know right well,” said the 
earl : “ but I have armed me (sans leave) with your best corslet ; 
and as I have a strong affection for my poor liead (which is, in 
fact, of no use to any one save myself), they shall never possess 
it if my hands can keep it. If I am beset to-night — fiends ! 1 
won d mow them all down with this long blade, like death 
with his scythe.” 

“ St. Mary ! use it warily,” said Roland laughing ; “ thou 
wilt punch a hole in the roof else.” 

“Thou lovest this king James well ?” 

“ Love him — yes. I am ready to be cut in pieces for him 
U -morrow.” 

“ Still thou art poor !” 

“ I have quite made up my mind to be rich at some future 
day, but when that day shall come, the Lord alone knows,” 
replied Roland, without perceiving that the earl was covertly 
ridiculing his loyalty to James. 

Notwithstanding his disguise, the whole air and bearing of 
Ashkirk were eminently noble. Though brave and passionate, 
he veiled a promptitude to anger under an outwardly impassible 
equanimity of temper; thus, while he could be at one time 
rash to excess, at another he could affect to be doggedly cool. 
He had innumerable excellent qualities of head and heart, 
which would have rendered him of inestimable value to such a 
prince as James V. ; but his blind devotion to the faction of 
Angus (a faction of which we will treat more at large else- 
where) rendered them nugatory. Though considerably above 
the middle height, he was strong, elegant, and graceful. His 
nose was almost aquiline ; his eyes were dark and piercing ; his 
mouth was like that of a Caesar; and b=s well defined chin was 


THE king’s advocate. 


57 


mdicative of that obstinacy of purpose, which is a leading 
feature of the Scottisli character; and like every gentleman of 
his time, he rode, fenced, and danced to perfection. 

Roland sighed when he thought on all these lost good 
qualities, and bestowing a parting glance on the earl, who, as 
his valet, was obliged to leave him at the large gothic door of 
the hall, he passed through with the guests, who were ushered 
between a double line of pages and liverymen. The chamber- 
lain of the household waved his wand, and announced — 

“Sir Roland Vipont of that ilk, master of tlie king’s ord- 
nance.” ' ' 

In one little heart only, amid all the gay throng in that 
magnificent hall, did the name of the king’s first favourite find 
an echo. 

Two hundred wax-lights, in branching chandeliers, illumin- 
ated the high arched roof and lofty walls of the vast apartment, 
which was decorated with all that florid ornament and gran- 
deur which we find in the palaces of James V. It was one of 
his new additions to the regal mansion which his uncle Albany, 
and his father, James lY., had first engi-afted on the old mo- 
nastic edifice of the Holy Cross. In honour of the queen, the 
walls were hung with a»'ras composed of resplendent cloth-of- 
gold and silver, impaled with velvet, and the floors were covered 
with Persian carpets, which were among the gifts received by 
James V. from Francis I."* 

On one side the arras was festooned to reveal the refresh- 
ment-rooms which lay beyond, and the long tables, whereon lay 
every continental delicacy, with the richest wines of France and 
Italy, all of which the poorest Scottish artizan could procure 
duty free, before the union. There, too, lay one of the queen’s 
cupboards of silver plate, which was valued at more than a 
hundred thousand cM’owns, and watched by four of the royal 
guard, with their arquebuses loaded. Chairs covered with 
white velvet, brocaded with gold, and surmounted by imperial 
crowns, and sofas or settles of purple velvet, were ranged along 
the sides of these rooms ; but the great hall was cleared of all 
obstruction for the dancers. The king’s musiciaus, among 

* Item. Fonre suitts of rich arras hangings of 8 pices a suitt; 
wroght with gold and silke. 

'•'‘Hem. Foure suitts of hangings of cloth-of-gold-silver, impaled with 
velvettT 

"Item. 20 Persian carpets, faire and large.” — See list of “gifts and 
uropyncs,” Balfowr's Annale% vol. i. op. 266, 7. 


58 


JANE SETON : OR, 


whom were the four drummers, tlie four trumpeters, and tlires 
flute-players of the queen’s French band, all clad in yellow 
satin, occupied the music gallery, and were just striking up king 
James’s favourite march. The Battle of Harlaiv, which was 
then very popular in Scotland, and remained so down to the 
time of Drummond of Hawthornden. 

Amid the crowd of ladies, nobles, and splendidly attired 
cavaliers, who thronged the vast length of that great apartment, 
seeming as one mass of velvet, silk, satin, and waving plumage 
of every hue, mingled with jewels that sparkled and lace that 
glittered, aiguilettes, swords, and mantles, poniards and spurs, 
trains, ruffs and knightly orders — surrounded by a sea of light, 
for the gleaming cloth of gold that covered the walls seemed 
nothing else — Roland looked anxiously, but in vain, for Lady 
Seton, as he walked straight towards the upper end, to present 
liimself to the king and queen. 

James leaned on the side of Magdalene’s chair, conversing with 
her and the six privileged ladies of honour, who sat near her, 
three being on each side, occupying little stools, which were 
covered with blue velvet, and called taboureites. Among this 
group were Madame de Montreuil, Mademoiselle de Brissac, 
and several noble Frenchwomen, who had known Vipont in 
France, and greeted him with a smile of welcome. 

James was magnificen ly clad in his favourite dress of white 
brocaded satin, slashed with rose-coloured silk. His four orders 
(the first in Europe) sparkled on his neck, and the band of his 
slouched blue bonnet shone like a zone with diamonds. His 
rich brown hair fell in ringlets on his ruff, and his dark hazel 
eyes were bright with gaiety and pride. He wore a short 
mantle, a long sword, sheathed in blue velvet, buff boots, and 
gold spurs. His white silk stockings were the first seen in 
Scotland, and the motto of the Garter encircled his left leg. 

With that frankness which made him so charming to all, this 
handsome young monarch immediately approached Sir Roland, 
and met him half way. 

“ Here comes my Vipont !” said he ; “ ah ! thou art a fine 
fellow, Roland. I would know thee for a noble, or a soldier, at 
a league’s distance, by that inimitable bearing of thine.” 

Roland bowed profoundly; but the king took his hand, 
while many a fierce glance was exchanged between the 
various nobles who beheld the warm reception of this rising 
favouiite. 

“ And so, my poor Vipont, thou wert attacked last night ?” 


IHit king’s advocate. 


5» 


“ A mere joke, your majesty.” 

“ Three daggers are no joke ; but you were wounded ?” 

‘‘ Oh, a mere scratch with a pin.” 

“ Dost suspect any one as having caused it ?” 

“Your majesty alone,” replied Roland, with a peculiar smile 
At the group around the king; “ for your favour is ever fatal to 
}Our friends.” 

“Doubtless,” said James, with a darkening brow, “it hath 
been some ot those accursed — ” (Douglasses, he was about to 
say, but on seeing how quickly the colour mounted to Vipont’s 
brow he said) “ cloak-snatchers, and cut-purses, who make their 
lair in the Rurghmuir-woods, and elsewhere; but this must be 
looked to, sirs ! such doings cannot be permitted in our burghs 
and landward towns.” 

They conversed in the old court Scots, then “the language 
of a whole country” (says Lord Jeffrey in one of his able essays), 
an independent kingdom, still separate in laws, character, and 
manners ; a language by no means common to the vulgar, but 
the common speech of the whole nation in early life, and con- 
nected in their imagination, not only with that olden time 
which is uniformly conceived as being more simple, pure, and 
lofty than the present, but also with all the soft bright colours 
of remembered childhood and domestic affection.” 

Roland advanced at once towards the young queen, who gave 
him her hand to kiss, and received him with her brightest 
smile ; for liis face had become familiar to her in the king’s 
train, at her father’s court. 

“ Ah ! Monsieur le Maitre d’Artillerie,” she said, in a very 
sweet voice, “ thou seemest quite like an old friend, and remind- 
est me so much of my father’s house at St. Germain-en-Laye — 
that pretty little hunting-lodge, near the Seine, where I was so 
happy — though not so happy as I am here — 0 Dieu me 'par- 
donne^ no,” she added, with covert glance at the king full of the 
utmost affection. 

“ My dear Madame de Montreuil,” said Roland, in a low 
voice ; “ express for me to her majesty the thousand thanks I 
owe you and her for the favour shown to my friends.” 

This charming daughter of queen Claud the Good was (as 
we have elsewhere said) only in her sixteenth year. Her fair 
brown hair, of which she had a great profusion, was most 
becomingly arranged in plaits and curls ; her eyes were of the 
most beauliful blue ; her small velvet cap, squared at the tem- 
ple", and falling straight down each cheek, was blue, lined with 


JANE SETON , OR, 


60 

whiu <5atin, and edged with little pearls; her skirt was all of 
frosted ciotn M-gold, with a body of violet-coloured satin, era* 
broidered also with gold, and having hanging sleeves of the 
richest lace lined with latticed ribbons ; her gloves were highly 
perfumed ; and around her neck was a gift of the Countess of 
Arran — a string of those large and snow-white pearls, that in 
the olden time were found in the burn of Cluny. She fre- 
quently sighed, as if with pain and weariness, and pressed a 
hand at times upon her breast. 

Having now paid his devoirs to the young queen, Roland 
scrutinized the glittering throng for the fair form of her who, 
though perhaps less beautiful than the gentle Magdalene, was 
to him the queen indeed of all the ladies there. 

“Vipont,” said the king, coldly, as he drew Roland aside, 
“ I know for whom thou art looking — for one whose brother is 
under sentence of forfeiture, the price of his head being at this 
moment written on the palace gates; for one who, I can 
assure thee. Sir Roland, should not have been under the roof- 
tree of Holyrood to-night, but for the kind wishes of her ma- 
jesty and Madame de Montreuil, whose weak side I see thou 
hast attained, as any handsome gallant may easily do.” 

Roland’s heart sank at these words. 

“Alas! your majesty,” he replied, in the same low voice, 
“ are tlie houses of Douglas and Seton fallen so low, that a fair 
young being, who unites the blood of both in her pure and sin- 
less heart, is merely tolerated in Holyrood ? Y our royal sire, 
around whom so many brave men of both these names fell on 
that dark day at Flodden, foresaw not a time like this.” 

“ There is truth in this, though I have the deepest cause for 
enmity to these families that ever king had to a subject,” 
replied James, frankly. “The mere rebellion of Earl John of 
Ashkirk I might have forgotten, and that of his son I could 
have forgiven, but his leaguing with Englishmen nevei ! And 
yonder stands my little rebel, Jane of Ashkirk ; faith, she is 
beautiful — yea, as love herself!” 

“ I think her inferior to the queen.” 

“ With all thy partiality ? Rogue, thou flatterest me ! A 
true lover should deem his ladv-love infei’ior to none under 
God !” 

“ I have heard that she is as much famed for her beauty aa 
her mother is for her salves and recipes,” said a Hamilton, with 
a very unmistakeable sneer. 

“Nay, Sir John of Kincavil,” said the king, “thou art too 


THE king’s advocate. 


61 


severe to be gallant. I will swear that her hair is the finest I 
ever saw.” 

“ And her teeth,” said young Leslie of Balquhan. 

“ And her skin, which is like the finest velvet I” said Roland, 
simply. 

“Ah, the devil! thou hast discovered that T said the king 
— and several courtiers and soldiers laughed. “ I must really 
see this fair one,” he whispered ; “ she looks at you. Sir Roland. 
Ah ! I see — ’tis the unmistakeable glance of a woman at the 
man she loves. I find I am about to lose my master of the 
ordnance.” 

“Sir John of Kincavil,” said Roland in a low voice, as he 
passed that tall and brilliantly attired knight; “at noon to- 
morrow I will be waiting you at the Water Gate.” 

“ I shall bring my best rapier,” replied the other with a bow. 

“And a pot of the countess’s salve,” said Roland, with a 
dark smile, as they mutually bit their gloves in defiance, and 
passed on. 

During the presentation of Roland to the queen, and this 
colloquy with the king. Lady Jane Seton, who had not yet 
been presented to Magdalene, felt herself somewhat unpleasantly 
situated. Her companions, Marion Logan and Alison Hume, 
had both disappeared in the crowd, the first with the well known 
Norman Leslie, Master of Rothes, and the second with Sir 
John Forrester, of the king’s guard ; while, quite oblivious of 
the many hostile eyes around, the beautiiul Sybil, with a large 
fan outspreaa before her, had thrown aside her usual sadness, 
and, exhilarated with the gaiety of the scene, was coquetting 
and smiling to a gay crowd of young cavaliers, to whose jests 
and gallantries she was replying, however, with the words alone, 
for her thoughts were concentrated on the tall valet, whom she 
had seen more than once at the opposite doorway, armed with 
his portentous rapier. 

The hostile eyes were those of the Hamilton faction, which 
was always in the ascendant wdien the power of the Doug- 
lasses was at a low ebb ; and thus, marvelling how the sister of 
the exiled earl had found her way into their privileged and ex- 
clusive circle, cold, haughty, and inquiring glances met those of 
the timid Jane, whose cheeks began to crimson with anger 
She had now lost the thoughtless Sybil : she saw not her lover; 
and amid that vast crowd found herself utterly alone. Mar- 
garet Countess of Arran, the ladies of Barncleugh and Evan- 
dale, Dalserf and Drumrye, of Raploch, and others, all wives 


62 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


and dausrliters of kniofhts and gentlemen of the hostile surname, 
were gazing stolidly upon her. 

Cardinal Beaton, clad in his scarlet cope and baretta, with a 
gold cross upon his breast, was standing near her, conversing 
with a prelate in purple. This was the French Bishop of 
Limoges, in the Vienne, to whom, with his right forefinger laid 
on the palm of his left hand, he was impressively holding forth 
on “ the damnable persuasions of the English heretics, whose 
perverse doctrines were spreading schisms and scandals in the 
holy church in Scotland.” His large, dark, and thoughtful 
eyes, which were (inadvertently however) fixed on Jane, com- 
pleted her confusion. The great and terrible cardinal was evi- 
dently speaking of her ; she felt almost sinking when the crowd 
around fell back, and the king, with her lover, approached to 
her relief. 


CHAPTER IX. 

LA VOLTA. 

“ Yet IS there one, the most delightful kind, 

A lofty jumping, or a leaping round, 

Where, arm in arm, two dancers are entwined. 

And whirl themselves, with strict einbracenients bound. 

And still their feet an anapcst do sound : 

An anapest is all their music’s song, 

Whose first two feet are short, and third is long.” 

Orchestra, by Sir J. Davies, 1596, 

“ May I present to your majesty,” said Roland, “ the Lady Jane 

Seton, the only daughter of brave Earl John of Ashkirk ” 

“ Who thrice saved my father’s banner at Flodden — a right 
royal welcome to Holyrood, madam,” said James, bowing grace- 
fully and low, while all his hostility vanished as he gazed on 
the pure open brow and clear eyes of Jane ; “ but how is this. 
Sir Roland ? thou oughtest to have introduced me to the lady, 
not the lady to me— the knight to the dame— the inferior to 
the superior. But hark ! the music is striking ‘ Kinge Wil- 
lyiain’s Notte ’tis a round we are to dance — Lady Jane, wilt 
favour me — your hand for this measure ; see, my Lord Arran 
is leading forth the queen.” 

And thus, almost before she had time for reflection, Jane 
found herself led to the head of that shining hall, the partnei 


THE king’s advocate. 


63 


!)f king James, who had seen the hostile eyes that were btmt 
upon her, had seen how their cold glances thawed into smiles 
at his approach, and resolved, by a striking example, to rebuke 
the malicious spirit he despised. 

Roland finding himself anticipated, had now no desire to 
dance, and wishing to follow Jane with his eyes, retired among 
the spectators, whose liostile remarks more than once made him 
bite his glove and grasp the pommel of his poniard. 

The dancers were performing the round, a species of country- 
dance, which continued in fashion while quadrilles were in 
uturity, and until the time of Charles I. 

The king’s principal favourite, James Hamilton, Earl of 
Arran (afterwards the Regent Duke of Chatelherault, knight of 
St. Michael), a stately noble, arrayed in dark violet-coloured 
velvet, becoming his years and grave diplomatic character, led 
forth the bright young queen. Thei-e were about thirty couples 
on the floor, all the gentlemen wearing high ruffs, short mantles, 
and immense long swords. The captain of the guards, and 
Leslie, his lieutenant, were still with Alison Hume and Marion 
I.iOgan. At a given signal, a burst of music came from the 
l)aIconv, and the dancers began with that spirit and grace 
which "belonged to the olden time, and then the whole hall 
vibrated with joy and happiness, brilliancy and praise ; for if 
ihe king was the most finished cavalier in Scotland, Magdalene 
♦vas assuredly the fairest young being that had ever worn its 
liadem. 

The great earl of Arran acquitted himself, however, very 
much to the queen’s dissatisfaction ; for this thoughtful states- 
man and favourite minister was confounded to find Lady Seton 
dancing with the king, and knew not what to think of this 
sudden and dangerous change in his sentiments towards the 
Douglas party. 

Above the well-bred hum of modulated voices in the hall, a 
loud uproar of tongues in one of the courts below drew Roland 
10 the windows more than once. 

“ 13j heaven, they have discovered Ashkirk !” was his first 
thought. But the noise was occasioned by the king’s jester 
Jock Macilree, frolicking among the pages, lacqueys, and yeo- 
men of the guard, with his cap-and-bells, bladder, and fantastic 
dress, exercising on the poor black page, Sabrino, that wh 
whicL for the present, was excluded from the royal circle, aa 
his rough jests, boisterous laughter, and grotesque aspect, ter 
rifled and agitated the timid young queen. 


^4 


JANE seton; or, 


“ God keep you, Sir Roland Vipont,” said a flute-like voice 
(with the usual greeting for which our more homely “ How are 
you ?” is now substituted). Roland turned, and bowed on en* 
countering the grave face and keen dark eyes of the lord 
advocate. 

“ God keep you. Sir Adam,” he replied, rather coldly, as may 
be easily supposed. “ Understanding that you laboured under 
a severe illness, I did not expect the pleasure of meeting you 
here.” 

“ As little did I expect the honour of meeting you^ having 
heard that you had received an unfortunate wound.” 

“ Ah ! a scratch, as your lordship heard me tell the king,” 
replied Roland, colouring with indignation ; but the face of 
Redhall was impassible as that of a statue. 

“ Courtiers must expect such scratches at times.” 

“ Under favour, my lord, I am no courtier.” 

- “ No,, excuse me — better than a thousand courtiers — thou 
art a brave soldier.” 

Roland bowed. 

“ He flatters me for some end,” thought he. There was a 
mixture of politeness and disdain in the manner of Redhall that 
was fast provoking Roland, for they had never spoken before, 
save once, more than a year ago, on the king’s service. “ Can 
this really be the villain who attempted to slay me,” he reflect- 
ed, “ or hath the hostility of Ashkirk led his ears into terror ? 
I think not ; for, strange to say, my wound smarted the moment 
he addressed me. Doubtless, had I been dead, it would have 
bled at his touch.” 

“ You know'. Sir Roland, ’tis my peculiar province to have 
the laws enforced. Have you any suspicions of who your 
assailant was ?” 

“ Yes, the instigator of the assault is here to-night — yea, in 
this very hall !” 

“ His name ?” 

“ Is writtf'n on the blade of my sword, where I am w'ont to 
keep such memorandums,” replied Roland, with a glance which 
made the official start, change colour, and raise his eye-brows 
with an expression of surprise, as he turned away ; for at that 
moment the king came up, the dance having ended, and the 
blood mounted to the temples of Redhall, for Lady Jane Setoa 
was leaning on his arm. 

“ How now, lord advocate ?” said the frank monarch. “ Why 
so grave and so grim ? Thou art a sorely changed man now 1 


THE king’s advocate. 




Dost tliou remember when we two were but halfling callants 
Ht our tasks togetiier, in the barred chambers of David’s tower, 
ti’enibling under terror of old Gavin’s ferrule — Gavin Dunbar, 
the poor prisoner of my uncle Albany ?” 

“ A nd how oft we played truanderie together,” replied the 
advocate with a faint smile. 

“ To seek birds’-nests in the woods of Coates, throw kailcas- 
tocks down the wide lums of the Grassmarket, and fish for 
pawowets in the Nor’loch. By St. Paul ! those were indeed 
the happy days of guileless hearts ; for, if we quarrelled, w 
beat each other until we were weary, and thenceforward became 
better friends than ever. But how cometh it that thou, my 
gay cannoneer, hast not had a measure to-night, and when no 
dance seems perfect without thee ? Madame de Montreuil 
and some of our' French damoiselles are anxious to dance la 
volta, which was all the rage at the fetes of king Francis ; but 
not one of our Scottish gallants knoweth the least about it, 
save thyself.” 

“ 1 am sure the lady Jane does, and if she will favour me 
with her hand, and your majesty will spare her ” 

“ To thee only will I, for I long now to speak with mine own 
true love,” and, with a graceful smile, James retired to the group 
that remained around the young queen and her dames of the 
tabouretie. 

The feeble health of Magdalene was apparent to all by the 
.angiior and alternate flushing and pallor of her face, after the 
trifling exercise of la ronde. 

As Vipont led away Lady Jane, Redhall turned to conceal 
his sudden emotion. lie faced a mirror, and was startled at 
his own expression. Swollen like cords, the veins rose on his 
forehead like lines painted there. Jane had gone off with- 
out even bestowing on him a smile or a bow. She had quite 
forgotten his presence. He felt painfully that in her mind there 
would, doubtless, be a mighty gulf between himself and this 
gay young soldier, whose light spirit and chivalric heart were 
so entirely strangers to that burning jealousy and passionate 
desire of vengeance that struggled for supremacy with love. 
He passed a hand over his pale brow, as if to efface the emo- 
tion written there, and turned again with his wonted smile oi 
coldness and placidity to address the person nearest him. This 
chanced to be no other than his gossip, the abbot of Kinloss, a 
peep-eyed little churchmaii, whose head and face, as they peered 
from his ample cope, so strongly resembled those of a rat 


£6 


^ JANE SETON ; OR, 


looking forth from a hole, that no other desc/h'tion is re- 
quired. 

The ambassador of the great Charles V., a /ichly-dressed 
cavalier in black, on whose breast shone the golo cross of Oala- 
trava and the silver dove of Castile, and whose scarf of scanet 
and gold sustained a long spada of the pure Toledo steel, now 
appeared on the Persian-carpeted floor, leading Madame de 
Montreuil, a gay little Frenchwoman in white brocade, which 
stuck out all round her nearly six feet in diameter ; Roland 
and Lady Seton were their vis-d-via. All eyes were upon them, 
for the dance was so completely new, that none in Scotland 
had ever seen it, and the expectations were great as the music 
which floated through the oak-carved screen of the gallery 
seemed divine. The right arm of each cavalier was placed 
round the waist of his lady, while her right hand re»ted in his 
left, and was pressed against his heart ; in short, la volta^ which 
had thus made its appearance in old Holyrood on the night of 
the 20th May, in the year of grace, 1537, was nothing more 
than the vault step, now known, in modern times, as the 
waltz. 

There was a pause ; the music again burst forth, rising and 
falling in regular time, and away went the dancers, round and 
round, in a succession of whirls, the little red-heeled and white 
velvet shoes of the ladies seeming to chavSe the butf boots and 
gold spurs of the gentlemen ; round and round they went, 
rapidly, lightly, and gracefully. The tall Spanish ambassador 
and little Madame de Montreuil acquitted themselves to pei'- 
fection ; but Roland and Jane, to whom he had only given a 
few lessons during the preceding forenoon, perhaps less so ; but 
none there observed it ; and a burst of acclamation welcomed 
this graceful dance, which was now for the first time seen in 
Scotland, but which the prejudices of after years abolished till 
the beginning of the present century. 

“ What thinkest thou of this new spring, father abbot ?” said 
Redhall, with a cold smile in his keen eyes. 

“ Ihere is sorcery in it, by my taith there is!” whispered the 
abbot, lowering his voice and his bushy ey«-brows ; “ there is 
eorcery in it, my lord advocate, or my name is not Robin Reid, 
abbot of Kinloss.” 

“ Ha 1 dost thou think so ?” 

“ Think so ? Ken ye not that it hath been partly condemned 
Dy the parliament of l^aris (whom we take tor our model in all 
matters of justiciary), for it originated in Italy, from whence it 


THE king’s advocate. 


67 


was taken into France by tlie witches, who dance it with the 
devil on the sabbath. Ah. ’tis well worth making a memoraii 
duni ot,” continued this meagre little senator, perceiving that 
Redhall was writing something in his note-book or tablets, be 
hind the shadow of a window-curtain. 

“ But the Spaniard is a knight of a religious order,” urged 
Kedhall, pausing. 

‘‘ A religious order !” repeated the testy abbot ; “ ’tis such a 
cloister ot religieux as our knights of Torphichen, who spend 
night and day in drinking and dicing, fighting anent their pre- 
rogatives, and debauching the country maidens on their fiefs 
and baronies. Were he not ambassador of Charles V., I would 
vote for having him under the nippers of Nichol Birrel ; for 
if ever a sorcerer trod on Scottish ground, ’tis he. He dabbles 
in charms and philtres, and every night ’tis said his chimney 
in St. John’s Close emitteth blue sparks, which are those of hell, 
as sure as I am Robin Reid, abbot of Kinloss. He and father 
St. Bernard are ever searching among the baser minerals for 
the spirit of the gold ; at least, so say the pi‘ebendaries of St, 
Giles.” 

“ Um ! he is confessor of the Lady Ashkirk,” muttered Red- 
hall, making another memorandum. 

“ As we were talking of sorcery, what hath the high sherift’ 
of Lothian done with your vassal, the forester of Kinleith, who 
buried a living cat under his hearth-stone, as a charm against 
evil ?” 

“ Ah,” said Redhall, with a smile, “ Birrel soon found such 
proofs against him, that he is sent to the justiciary court.” 

“ Ho ! ho !” said the little abbot, rubbing his hands ; “ San- 
ders Screw and his concurrents will bring mickle to light, or 
my name is not Robin ” 

But here the advocate hurried abruptly away, for at that mo- 
ment the dance ended ; and flushed, heated, and fatigued, the 
two ladies were led away — De Montreuil, by her cavalier, into 
the adjoining apartment, and la'dy Jane towards a staircase 
which descended from the hall to the level and grassy lawn, 
that lay between the palace and the foot of the craigs of Salis- 
bury. 

The green sides of the silent hills and rocky brows of those 
basaltic cliffs, which seem but the half of some vast mountain 
which volcanic throes have rent and torn asunder, were bathed 
in the splendour of the broad and cloudless moon ; the palace 
Ic vers and vanes stood forth in strong white light, while the 


Jl'^E SETOX ; OR, 


es 

curtain walls and cloistered courts were sieeped in sable sba 
dow. On the ri'iht were a cluster of small antique houses 
wliere some of the roval retainers dwell, and where Kolaiid 
had his temporary domicile. This was called St. Anne’s \ ard ; 
on the left, apparently among the hills, two red lights were 
shining. One was from an ancient mansion at the foot of Salis- 
bury craigs, where Robert, abbot of the Holy Cross, dwelt; 
the other was from the illuminated shrine of St. Antony’s 
He’-mitage. 

Several revellers were lounging on the green sward in the 
moonlight, or sitting on the carved stone benches that were 
placed against the palace wall, and the lovers took possession 
of the most remote, where the south garden of the king bor 
dered the burial-ground of the abbey. 

“Jane,” said Roland, as he gazed fondly on her pure brow 
and snowy skin, wnich seemed so dazzlingly white in the clear 
moonlight; “your smiles to-night have done more to raise the 
Dougla^t cause, than twenty thousand lances. How my heart 
leaps ! T seem to tread on air ! I knew well that James had 
but to see you, to appreciate your worth and beauty. He has 
done eo : and now old dame Margaret of Arran, and all the 
HamiHons of Cadyow and Clydesdale, will be ready to burst 
their boddices and die of sheer vexation.” 

“ But if Archibald should be discovered ” 

“ Chut! dost think that James would dance with the sister 
over night and decapitate the brother in the morning ?” 

“ The king never once referred to the frightful position in 
which he is placed.” 

“ He is much too courtly to do so. But say, art thou not 
happy, dearest ?” 

“ Happy ? with a proclamation on this palace gate offering a 
thousand merks for my brother’s head 1 Oh, Roland 1 Roland ! 
I would justly merit contempt to be so. I came not hither to 
rejoice, or with any other intention than to beg his life and par- 
don from the king. The figures of a dance were certainly not 
the place to prefer such a solemn request — Mother of God 1 
no ; and as my mother says, but with a different meaning, I 
am yet biding my time. My heart sickens at the splendour 
of that glittering hall, when rbethink me that the gallant earl, 
my brother, whose plume should have waved among the lof- 
tiest there, is now the companion of lacqueys and liverymen— 
the retainers of our actual enemies and oppressors — the butt, 
perhaps, of their coarse mirth and ribald jests, and fearing to 


THE king’s advocate. 


69 


repel them with the spirit he possesses, lost he should be dis- 
covered and unmasked by those whose innate hatred of the 
Seton and the Douglas require not the additional incentive of 
king James’s gold.” 

“ It was, I own, a madcap adventure his coming here to- 
figlit ; but thou knowest that he is headstrong as a Highland 
bull. However, Lintstock, my servant, a wary old gunner of 
king James IV., is with him, and will see he is neither insulted 
nor discovered.” 

“ Anything is better than suspense,” said Jane, sobbing. 
“ Would that the king were here.” 

“ I will bring him if you wish it,” said Roland, rising and 
taking both her hands in his ; “ he would come in a moment, 
for to him a lady message is paramount to one from the parlia- 
ment. But would you say that the earl is in Scotland — here 
among us in Edinburgh ?” 

“ I would, Roland — yes, for such is my confidence in the 
honour and generosity of the king.” 

“ ’Tis not misplaced, for James is alike good and merciful ; 
but ’twere better to ask his French bride, whom he loves too 
well to refuse her anything — even to become the ally of his 
uncle, English Henry; and certes ! the prdon of a gallant 
Scottish noble is no great boon to crave of a generous Scottish 
king.” 

Roland started, for at that moment the voice of James was 
heard at one of the open windows of the hall just above 
them. 

“ Vipont ! Sir Roland !” he said. 

“ I am here, at your grace’s service,” replied Sir Roland, 
raising his bonnet. 

“ Wilt thou favour us a moment ? here, my lord the bishop of 
Limoges and I have a dispute as to whether our old gun of 
Galloway, Mollance Meg, or the Devil of Bois le Due, carry 
the largest ball. I say Meg ; the bishop says the Devil ; and 
as ’tis thy office to know all points of gunner-craft, come 
hither, if that fair dame will do us the honour to spare thee for 
one moment, for we have laid a hundred lions Scots on the 
matter.” 

Loth to leave Jane, and anxious to please the king, Roland 
hesitated, till she said — 

“ Obey the king, and I will wait your return ; luckily, yon- 
der is my cousin Sybil and Louis Leslie of the king’s guard.” 

Roland pressed her hand, sprang up the flight of steps, and 


70 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


the moment he was gone Lady Jane found some one standing 
at her side. 

She turned, and encountered the sombre figure of Redhall, 
the sad glance of whose piercing eyes ran like lightning through 
tier veins ; and she trembled at the double reflection that she 
was almost alone, and that he might have overheard their dan- 
gerous conversation concerning her brother. 


CHAPTER X. 

LOVE AND ABHORRENCE. 

“ Ah ! who can e’er forget so fair a being ? 

Who can forget her half-retiring sweets ? 

God ! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats 
For man’s protection.” 

When Jane thought for a moment of how long this great poli- 
tic al inquisitor and public prosecutor had been the feudal foe 
and legal oppressor of her mother’s kinsman and her father’s 
house, and that he had but recently (as she had gathered from 
her brother) meditated or attempted the assassination of her 
lover, — as he had previously done the chief of the Maclellans, 

• — she felt her whole heart recoil from him as from a serpent, 
with terror and abhorrence. Nevertheless, finding that Sybil 
and her cavalier had disappeared among the groups of revel- 
lers who dotted the moonlit lawn, she had sufficient tact to veil 
her inward repugnance and suspicions under an outward po- 
liteness, and to incline her head slightly when he bowed and 
assumed a position for conversing by leaning his handsome and 
stately figure against the stone aim of the sofa, which was 
formed of a wyvern, with its wings outspread. 

He was dazzled by the splendour of her beauty, which the 
unwonted magnificence of her attire had so much enhanced; 
and remained silent and embarrassed, till Jane said — 

“ I did not imagine that so grave a man as Sir Adam Otter- 
burn would have much to amuse him among these gay frivo- 
lities.” 

“ Nor have I, madam, for my mind is usually filled with 
ihoughts of deeper and more vital import than the comely 


THE king’s advocate. 


71 


fashion of a rr.flf or mantle, or the cni'Iing of a pretty ringlet. 
I came but to steal a few moments from my unhappy destiny ; 
and 1 swear by my faith, that to see you dancing with the king 
was the only tranquil joy I have had for many a day. Ah ! 
madame, you excelled yourself ; you outshone them all, as yon- 
der moon outshines the stars around it !” 

Lady Jane bowed again, and glanced uneasily at the stair- 
case ; there was no appearance of Roland, and knowing intui- 
tively the dangerous topic to which the speaker was inclining, 
she trembled for what he might say next, for Redhall was not 
a man to dally much when he had any end in view. 

He had seen her dancing with Roland Vipont ; he had 
heard those whispers by which the whole court linked their 
names together ars lovers, yet an uncontrollable folly or fatality 
led him blindly on. 

“Notwithstanding that we were such good friends when last 
we met,” said he, in his soft and flute-like voice, while bending 
ills tine dark eyes on the green sward, “ you have shunned me 
so much of late, lady Jane, that I have had no opportunity of 
begging your permission to renew that conversation in which 1 

presumed first to say — that — that ” 

“ What ? ” 

“That I loved you” — his voice sank to a whisper at the ab- 
ruptness of the declaration. 

“ Oh ! Sir Adam ; thou followest a phantom.” 

Redhall sighed sadly and bitterly. 

“There was a time, deai-est madam, when I did not think 
so,” he continued slowly and earnestly — “ a time when I almost 
flattered myself that you loved me in return.” 

“ I !” said Jane, faintly. 

“ Thou''' he replied, impressively, fixing upon her his piercing 
eyes with an expression which fascinated her. “It was in the 
garden of my lord the abbot of Holyrood, at his mansion neai 
yonder craigs, some nine or ten months ago, about the vespei 
lime ; it was a glorious evening, and a broad yellow harvest 
moon was shining in the blue heavens among golden-coloured 
clouds ; the air was pure, and laden with perfume and with the 
fragrance of yonder orchards, and these fields covered with the 
grain of a ripe harvest. Abbot Robert had given a supper to 
Henrico Godscallo, the ambassador who came to ofter as a bride 
Mary of Austria or Mary of Portugal to king James. Oh!, 
thou caust not have forgotten it. We walked together in the 
garden, and you did me the honour to lean upon my arm. I 


T2 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


bent my head towards you, and your beautiful hair touched my 
forehead. My lieart beat like lightning — every vein trembled ! 
Oh ! I have never forgotten that night — that hour — the place — 
the time ! You seemed good and kind, merry and gentle with 
me. I was on the point of declaring myself then — of saying 
how I loved you — how I worsliipped you ; and your charming 
embarrassment seemed to expect the avowal ; when the coun- 
tess’s page — yonder black devil with the rings in his ears — ■ 
approached, and the spell was broken. My God ! the same 
moment, the same soft influences and adorable opportunity 
have never come again !” 

“ My lord advocate, you can plead ably for yourself,” replied 
Jane, coldly. 

“ My soul is in the cause at issue,” said he, looking at her 
anxiously ; “ ’tis very true, I am very miserable. I am as one 
in a dream. I love the air she breathes — the ground she treads 
on.” He was speaking to himself. In the very depth of his 
thoughts he forgot that she was beside him. 

“ My lord, my lord, ’tis the rhapsody this of Sir David Linde- 
say, or some such balladeer.” 

“ Nay, nay ; oh ! do not mock me. It seemeth as if my love 
for you is not the common love of this cold and utilitarian 
world ; for if ten ages rolled over our heads, I feel sure that my 
love would be the same ; nor time, nor circumstance, not even 
despair, can overcome it. Oh ! lady, believe me, there is no 
other man loves thee as I do.” 

Jane thought of Roland, but either the fury or the profun- 
dity of the speaker’s passion awed her into silence, for she 
made no reply ; and thereby encouraged, he continued — 

“ Pride and ambition are strong within me ; but believe me, 
my breast never had a passion so deep, so pure, as my love for 
thee. There is a silent strength in it that grows out of its very 
hopelessness. Canst thou conceive this ? Every glance, and 
smile, and word of thine, I have treasured up for years, and in 
solitude I gloat over them even as a miser would over his gold 
and silver.” 

Covered with confusion, and trembling excessively, Jane 
made an effort to withdraw. 

“ Beautiful tyrant !” said he, haughtily and firmly, as he 
stepped before her, “ thou knowest thy power, and findest a 
cruel pleasure in its exercise ; thy lips are full of pride as thine 
eyes are tull of light, and with the very smile of a goddess 
thou repay est the homage of all but me. Yet with all thesft 


THE king’s advocate. 


73 


charms I can conceive that no passion can dwell within thee, 
tor thou art cold and impassible as the marble of that fountain 
which sparkles in the moonlight — vain as vanity herself, and 
seltish as Circe. While weaving thy spells thou thinkest not 
of me, or the fatal power of thy beauty which is destroying 
me.” 

“ Holy Mary !” said Jane, in terror at his growing excite- 
ment ; did I tell thee to love me ? Am I to blame for this 
unruly frenzy ?” 

“ Oh ! my passion is very deep,” he continued, clasping his 
hands, and fixing his dark eyes on the stars. “ My God ! my 
God ! It besets me — it transfixes and transforms me into the 
object I love — our existence seems the same.” 

“What!” cried Jane, laughing; “hast thou transformed 
thyself into me?” 

Kedhall did not anticipate having his high-sounding sophis- 
try so acutely criticized ; he started as if a viper was beside 
him, and fixing upon her his eyes, which were fired with a 
strange mixture of sternness and ardour, he said, in his slow 
calm voice — 

“Strong and serene in thy boasted purity and pride, thou 
’aughest at me ; and by that laugh,” he continued, in a hoarse 
and bitter voice, “ I know that all is over with me ; but beware 
thee, proud woman — for love and illusion may die fast to- 
gether.” 

“ Sir Adam Otterburn,” replied Jane, haughtily, attempting 
again to retire, “ for the last time I tell thee, that death were a 
thousand times preferable to thy love ! Art thou not the 
sworn foe of my brother?” 

“Jhit not thine" replied the advocate, with a lowering 
brow ; “ make me not that, 1 pray thee.” His heart glowed 
alternately with love and fury at her unmoved aspect. Hia 
self-importance was wounded by her apathy ; and his galled 
pride was fast kindling a sentiment of hatred in his heart — a 
hate that grew side by side with his love — if such a state of 
heart can be .ionceived. “ Thy brother’s enemy ?” he repeated 
with a bitter laugh ; “ if I were indeed so much his enemy, 1 
might astonish the Lord Arran and his Hamiltons to-night.” 

“My God!” thought Jane, as her heart sank within her; 

he has overheard us, and learned our teiTible secret !”_ 

Alarmed by the ghastly expression of his face, which was 
white as maiLle, all save the jetty mustachios and the eyebrows 
that met over his firely-formed nose, Jane glanced anxiously 


74 


JANE seton; or, 


towards the stair which ascended to the hall, and Sir Adam 
observed it. A smile curled his pale lips, but the fire of the 
most ferocious jealousy kindled in his dark and deep-set eyes. 

“ I know for whom thou art looking,” said he, grasping her 
by the arm ; “ for yonder brainless fop, who thinks ot nothing 
but his rutf and his plume and the glory of being master of the 
hinge's ordnance — a wretched worm, whom the heat of our 
Scottish wars hath nourished into a gilded butterfly, and who 
dares to cock his bonnet in our faces with the bearing of a 
landed baron.” 

“ Gramercy !” said Jane, waggishly ; “ I knew not that a 
butterfly wore a bonnet.” 

“ Hah !” he muttered fiercely ; “ the lover who is once 
laughed at is lost P' 

The grasp of his strong hand compressed her slender arm 
like a vice ; there was an oath trembling on his lips, and fury 
dashing in his eye, for love and hatred, as they struggled in his 
heart, made him both selfish and savage. 

“ Oh Mother of Mercy !” murmured J ane ; “ away, ruflftan I 
or I will shriek that thou art a vampire !” 

At that moment the shadow of a tall figure, armed with a pro- 
digious sword, was thrown by the moon along the velvet sward ; 
and Redhall was prostrated by a blow on the ear, dealt by a pon- 
derous and unsparing hand. Jane turned with terror, and saw 
her brother, the earl, spring back and disappear under the clois- 
ter arches of the abbey ; while, at the same moment, Roland 
Vipont leaped down stairs from the hall, taking four steps at 
once. 

“ A thousand pardons, dearest Jane, and a thousand more,” 
he exclaimed, drawing her arm through his, and leading her 
away; “ but this tiresome argument concerning old Mollance 
Meg and the Devil of Bois le Due (plague take them both !) 
occupied more time than I had the least idea of ; and my lord 
the bishop of Limoges hath lost on the matter a hundred silver 
livres, which the king means to give the Franciscans to-morrow. 
But thou art not angry with me !” 

“ Angry ? oh, no ! I know thou art sufficiently punished, 
minutes being ages when absent from me ?” 

“ Ah, thou art right, for my sojourn in Paris was a very 
eternitj'.” 

“ Then let us join the dancers, and be merry while we may,” 
she said, with a gaiety which was scarcely assumed, for she was 
^'Ut too happy to hurry him intc the hall, without observing the 


THE king’s advocate. 


76 


ore advocate, who, stunned by the effects of the blow, lay for 
a second or two unseen, and somewhat ignominiously, upon a 
parterre of rose bushes, from whence he arose with fury in his 
heart, and liis sword in his hand, but to find himself alone — 
a fortunate circumstance, as he would infallibly have slain the 
first man near hii.:.. H^e adjusted his rutf and doublet, brushed 
a speck or two from his trunk breeches, and shaking his 
clenched hand, said hoarsely, under his mustachios — 

“ Either Roland Vipont or the earl of Ashkirk dishonoured 
me by that blow. Be it so — I have them all in my grasp ' 
Revenge is a joy for gods and demons, and, by the Holy Rood, 
I will be avenged, and fearfully too !” 

By this time the ball was nearly over, for the good people of 
those days had not yet conceived the idea of turning day into 
night ; and as the king and court were to depart on a grand 
hawking expedition on the morrow, and, as usual, had to be 
all up with the lark and the eagle, the bell clock of the neigh- 
bouring abbey church had barely tolled twelve when the dan- 
cing concluded, and the guests began to retire in rapid succes- 
sion, each paying their adieux to the king and q^ueen as they 
departed, and paying them with a solemnity and parade such 
as one may see nowhere now save in Old Castile. 

“Take courage, my sweet flower, Jane, for now is your most 
fortunate time to prefer to Magdalene your request that Ashkirk 
may be pardoned. She will never, by refusal, send away her 
principal guest ungraciously,” said Roland, as, hurrying through 
the festooned arras from the refreshment-room, where they had 
been tarrying for a time, they joined the stream of departing 
revellers who promenaded round the hall, and approached their 
royal host and hostess somewhat like a glittering procession. 
James and Magdalene were standing at the head of the hall, 
‘ust as when the entertainment began. His bonnet was in his 
right hand, his left rested on his sword, and was hidden by his 
short mantle ; the queen leant on his arm, and he bowed low 
to each of the nobles, and lower still to their brocaded ladies. 
The Scottish and French ladies of honour were grouped a 
little behind, all beautiful, young, nobly born, and brilliantly 
attired. 

“If she procures me this boon,” said Jane, “I will say nine 
prayers for her at the altar of St. Magdalene to-morrow, when 
we go to St. Giles. Of course you go with us to hear father 
St. Bernard’s oration on the patron saint of the city ?” 

“ Wherever you go I shall go ; but the hour ?” 


76 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


‘‘ One o’clock; but you will come at noon and see me 

“ Plague on it, I have a meeting.” 

“ A meeting ?” said Jane, anxiously. 

“ Oh, a duty, dearest — an indispensable duty to perform,” 
said Roland, remembering his brief challenge to Kincavil. 

“ What duty is this, of which I hear now for the first time ?” 

“ To see those fifty-six pieces of cannon which king Francis 
hath sent to king James, they are to be landed from Sir Robert 
l^arton’s ships, and conveyed to the Gun-house to-morrow. 
A most important duty, Jane ; they are all beautiful brass cul- 
verins, royal and demi ; ’twould do your heart good to see 
them !” 

“ Ah, if James and the queen should refuse me this ! — we 
are close to them now.” 

“ Refuse you ? they will refuse nothing that is asked in a 
voice so soft and so gentle.” 

As they drew near the royal group, Jane felt her heart almost 
failing her ; she clung to Roland’s arm, and watched the ex- 
pression in the face of Magdalene. She seemed now very pale ; 
her eyes were humid and downcast ; gentleness and languor 
pervaded her beautiful features ; she was overcome with lassi- 
tude and sinking with fatigue — the weakness incident to that 
hereditary disease which fast and surely was preying upon her 
fragile form. The proud nobles, to whom the king spoke occa- 
sionally as he bade them adieu, received his courtly attentions 
as a tribute due to their patriotic and lofty ancestry, and their 
proud bearing seemed to say, plainly, “ I am George Earl 
of Errol, Constable of Scotland,” or “ 1 am William Earl of 
Montrose, and come of that Grjeme whom king David knighted 
when the Stuarts were but thanes of Kyle and Strathgryfe for 
it was an age when the king was only a great baron, and every 
baron or laird was a king and a kaiser to boot. 

As they approached, Roland could perceive that cold glances 
welcomed Jane Seton from the ladies of honour, who were 
all enemies of her house, and whose fathers and brothers en- 
joyed many fiefs of the Douglas lands and fortresses, defacing 
the crowned heart on their battlements and substituting the 
three cinque-foih of Hamilton ; but to crown all, and increase 
the poor girl’s perturbation, she perceived Redhall standing near 
the king, seeming, with his dark figure and pallid visage, like her 
evil genius, cold, impassible, and dignified, as if the startling 
episode we have just related had never taken place. 

“ Ah^ ma bonne they heard Magdalene say to Mademoiselle 


TTIE king’s advocate. 


7 - 


de Brissac, “ liovv tired I am, and excessively sick of all tliis 
pai-ade !” 

“ Now, be of good heart, my sweet Jane,” said Roland, press- 
ing her m-m, “ and prefer your request firmly ; for Madame de 
Montreuil has explained to the queen all that we wish.” 

When she drew near the beautiful young girl that leaned on 
Tames’s arm, instead of bowing and passing on, Jane sank on 
one knee, and said — 

“ I beseech your grace to crave my brother’s pardon from 
our sovereign lord.” 

“ I know that he cannot refuse me anything,” said the young 
queen, with girlish simpli(fity, as she looked up lovingly and 
trustingly in the king’s face, while stretching out her hand to 
Jane. The latter pressed to her beautiful lips that fair little 
hand which was dimpled like that of a child, and the king was 
about to speak (and benignly, too, for every feature of his fine 
face said so), when Magdalene, overcome by her recent illness, 
by the close atmosphere of the hall, which was perfumed to 
excess, and by the glitter of innumerable wax-lights, uttered a 
faint cry, and fell backwards into the arms of Mademoiselle de 
Brissac. 

Consternation and concern were visibb in every face ; the 
queen was borne away senseless, and James hastily followed her 
almost inanimate figure ; the crowd behind pressed on, and Ro- 
land and Jane were carried before it. Redhall smiled, and said 
to the abbot of Kinloss, in James’s hearing — 

“ Did I not tell you, my lord, how rash it was to have the 
Lady Seton here ?” 

“ Agnus Dei ! yea, verily, for her mother deals in salves and 
philtres ; and there was sorcery at work just now. Sir Adam, or 
my name is not Robin Reid.” 

These words made a deep impression on the few who were 
meant to hear them, but chiefly on the king, who darted an 
angry glance after Jane Seton, and turned on his heel. 

At the palace gate the discomfited pair met Marion Logan, 
Alison Hume, and Sybil Douglas, who were all muffled in their 
hoods and mantles, and surrounded by an escort of serving-men, 
armed with steel caps and bucklers, swords, and wheel-lock 
dagues, and who bore lighted links. A few cavaliers with 
whom they had danced (Roland among them, of course) accom- 
panied them, and in this order they hurried home on foot, for 
wheeled vehicles were as yet unknown in the kingdom. 

Terrified by the practical jokes of the king’s jester, and th€ 


78 


JANE seton; or, 


din of liis bladder and bells, Sabrino had long since fled the 
precincts of the court, and taken refuge in his usual sleeping 
place (a small alcove near the door of the countess’s apartment), 
which he shared in common with a large black staghound. 

“ Come early to-morrow, dear Roland, and we will^ talk over 
the adventures of the last few hours,” whispered Jane as she 
bid adieu to her lover ; “ alas ! father St. Bernard warned me 
against going to-night ; but I have gone, and what has been 
the result ?” 


CHAPTER XL 

SWORDBLADES AND SALVE, 


“ Quhen Marche with variand windis wes past, 

And Apnryll had with her silver shouris 
Tane leif of Nature with an orient blast : 

And lusty May, that mother is of flouris, 

Had made the birdis to begyn their houris, 

Aman^ the tender odouris red and qiihyt, 

Quhais harmony to heir it was delyt.” 

Dunbar’s Thrissal and the- Rois, 1503 


The next morning was bright and beautiful ; the birds sang 
merrily in the old orchards of the palace and the older oak 
trees of the abbey Sancte Crucis. The sunlight, as it poured 
over the dark Craigs of Salisbury, and through chasms and 
fissures in their rocks, shone upon the green valleys below like 
a golden haze, and tipped with yellow light the grey masses 
of the strong old city. The fresh grass and the open flowers 
loaded the soft west wind wdth perfume, and gladdened the 
hearts of the happy hawking party, which left the palace an 
hour after sunrise, and all gaily mounted, with bugles sounding, 
hoi-ses prancing, plumes waving, and accompanied by a dozen 
of falconers in the royal livery, running on foot, with perches 
of hawks slung on their shoulders. 

As they rode eastward, by the base of Arthur’s Seat, and 
past the green and mossy bank where, among the clambering 
wild roses, stood the little pillared well, dedicated in the old 
time “to the good Saint Margaret, queen of Scotland, and 
mother of the poor,” and pursued thence their merry route 
towards the Lcxdi of Restalrig, which lay among its rocks and 
sedges, like a lake of blue and gold, Roland was compelled, by 


THE king’s t >VOCATR. 


79 


the cold manner of the king, to retire from his side. He saw 
with pain that the clear and benevolent eye of the monanih 
was clouded — that anger, unmistakeable anger, lowered upon 
his open brow. The inquiries of Roland for the health of the 
queen were received so haughtily, and replied to so briefly, 
that, with a heart full of wrath and pride, before the first heron 
had been raised from among the rushes and water-lilies to do 
battle in the air, he turned abruptly away, and resigned hia 
place to Sir Adam Otterburn of Redhall, whose face was 
lighted with an indescribable smile, as he pressed forward to 
the side of the young king. 

The bells of the Carmelites, on the north side of the city, of 
the Dominicans on the south, of the Franciscans in the Grass- 
market, and other large establishments, were all ringing for 
morning mass, when the cavalcade returned ; and Roland, sick 
at heart and dispirited, without bidding adieu to the king (who, 
with his company, passed on to prayer in the abbey church), 
dismounted at the door of his own lodgings, and, throwing the 
bridle of his horse to his servant, demanded breakfast, for he 
was in too furious a mood to attend mass. He was anxious to 
see Lord Ashkirk, but, encouraged by his disguise, and trusting 
implicitly in the old domestics of the house, that rash noble 
had gone to visit his family. 

Breakfast was prepared and laid on the table by Roland’s 
servant, Linton Stock, whose name had been professionally 
shortened into Lintstock. He was an old, iron-visaged culvernier, 
of king James IV.’s days (as the countess would say), hard- 
featured, wiry-haired, weather-beaten, and empurpled with 
liard drinking. It was his constant boast that he had levelled 
one of Borthwick’s Brass Sisters on the field of Flodden, and 
Thrawn Mow at the siege of Tantallan. Like Hannibal, this 
veteran had only one eye, for Mow (a famous cannon of Scottish 
antiquity) lost a piece of her muzzle every time she was dis- 
charged ; and one of the said pieces deprived Lintstock of his 
dexter eye, which, as he said, ever after saved him the trouble 
of closing it when taking aim, or adjusting the quoins under 
the breech of a culverin. For wages he had all his master’s 
cast cloaks, doublets, and breeches ; and being borne on the 
muster-roll of the king’s guuners, his pay, which was some- 
where about three-halfpence Scots per diem, made him inde- 
pendent of all mankind. 

On the anniversary of a Scottish victory, this one-eyed ^ 
patriot invariably got himself uproariously drunk, and broke 


80 ^ JANE SETON ; UR, 

tlie windows of the English ambassador ; on the anniversary 
of any of our defeats he was invariably ditto from vexation : 
and as these alternate sources of joy and grief occurred pretty 
often, the ancient warrior was seldom long sober. 

Neither Roland’s anger at the king, nor his intended combat 
with Kincavil, prevented him from making an excellent breakfast 
on broiled fish, cold meat, and bright brown ale. Before sitting 
down he selected the strongest and longest of some half-dozen 
swords that hung in a corner. It was a large double-edged 
weapon, with an ample hilt of steel ; the blade, being inlaid, 
was one of those called damasquinee, from the Asiatic art just 
then introduced into Europe by the famous Benvenuto Cellini. 
It was a beautiful rapier, which he had taken in battle from an 
Italian cavalier, when serving under John Stuart Duke of 
Albany, when, at the head of ten thousand French men-at-arms, 
that gallant prince invaded the kingdom of Naples. Roland 
never used it save on important and desperate occasions, and 
remembering that Kincavil was an able swordsman, he took it 
down and handed it to Lintstock to polish ; a duty which he 
performed in silent precision, with the aid of an old butf belt. 
Thereafter, with true military coolness, he tore a shirt into 
bandages, and prepared some lint against his master’s return. 

“ How many pots hast thou of that rubbish Lady Ashkirk 
sent me ? — the salve, I mean,” asked Roland, with his mous- 
taches whitened over by ale froth. 

“ Three, sir.” 

“ Dost thou know the laird of Kincavil ’s lodging?” 

“ Aboon the Tron — ^yes.” 

“ Then leave the pots there to-day, with my best commend 
ations ; for, by my faith, he will need them all.” 

Lintstock continued to rub, and watched the polish of iha 
blade with his eye sideways, as a bird does its seed. 

“ Thou knowest I expect two friends to supper, and must 
trust to thy ingenuity, for, ’fore God 1 I have not a testoon in 
the world.” 

‘‘ Be easy. Sir Roland, I’ll provide supper foi* the king him- 
self, if he come, and plenty Bordeaux to boot, forbye and attour 
the Rochelle,” replied Lintstock, with a nod, and a knowincf 
wink of his solitary eye. ^ 

The moment breakfast was over, Roland crossed himself and 
wiped his moustaches. Receiving his sword, he placed it in 
his belt on the left side, hung a long armpit dagger on the 
right, stuck his bonnet rather over the right eye, clasped his 


THE king’s advocate. 


81 


tloublet carefully to the throat, and giving his curls a last 
adjust, for he was somewhat of a beau, whistled the “ March 
to llarlaw,” as he issued forth, with the fullest intention of 
perforating the laird of Kincavil like a pepperbox. 

lie passed the long and irregular facade of the palace, the 
strongly-grated windows of which were gliltering in the bright 
sunshine that bathed the varied architecture of its courts and 
towers. Clad in their red doublets slashed with blade, and 
wearing caps and gorgets of steel, the sentinels of the king’s 
guard were leaning on their heavy arquebuses, the rests or 
forks of which were slung in their sword-belts ; and they stood 
in the bright blaze of the sun, as listlessly and still as the ban- 
ner of the red lion that waved above the gate. Beyond the 
precincts of the palace, the street, which is overlooked y 
gable-ended houses, in the old Flemish taste, becomes much 
wider. He turned to the right, and passed through the Water- 
gate, the most eastern barrier of Edinburgh. This strong and 
venerable porte obtained its name because the king’s horses 
were led out that way every morning to water, in a large pond 
near it. On quitting this ivied and grass-tufted archway, 
Roland found the open space allotted for tennis-players lying 
on his right hand, the horse-pond lay on his left, and before 
him the verdant Calton reared up its lonely ridge. 

The whole place was then quite solitary enough for such a 
meeting, though now the site of the pond, the tennis court, 
and even the hill itself are covered with houses. 

Roland’s anger was somewhat increased by perceiving that 
his adversary was already on the ground, and wiling away the 
time by skimming flat stones across the pond. “ Ah ! thou 
villanous Hamilton,” thought he, “ how I long to be at thee ! 
My sword is like a razor, my wrist is like steel, this morning, 
and I will curry thee in such fashion, that thou shalt tremble 
at the name of Jane Seton or a salve-pot ever after.” 

“ God be with you. Sir Roland ; you have not kept me 
waiting long,” said Kincavil, bowing with cold politeness. 

“ 1 am glad of it.” 

“You have been at mass this morning with the king, I 
think?” 

“ No, faith !” said Roland, knitting his brows as he though* 
of the hawking pai ty. “ I feared there would be no room for 
me among so many Hamiltons, panders, and parasites.” ^ 

“ Then 1 hope you said prayers at home,” replied Kincavil, 
whose ev's flashed, as he unsheathed his sword. 

‘ 6 


82 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


“As usual ; but I forgot to bring for your use a pot of lb at 
notable salve of which you made a jest last night.” 

“ Keep it for yourself, sir Roland — guard.” 

“ Come on, then — you will have it.” 

They saluted each other, the bright blades clashed, and they 
both engaged with great address and skill. Clad in blue velvet 
and gold, Kincavil was both strong and handsome ; but as a 
swordsman, considerably inferior to Roland, who had studied 
his thrusts at the court of Francis 1. ; and thus, three passes 
had scarcely been exchanged on the right, when he made a 
sudden appel on the left, and quickly disengaging to the right 
again, passed his sword completely through the body of his 
adversary, who bent forward over it, and sank upon his knees. 
He made a futile effort to rise, but the moment Roland’s blade 
was withdrawn, sank prostrate on the grass, with the blood 
gushing from his wound. 

“Ask me not to beg my life. Sir Roland,” said Hamilton in 
a broken voice, “ for I will rather die than condescend so far.” 

“Thou art a gallant man. Sir John Hamilton ; and may the 
devil take me if I make any such request ; but methinks I 
have taught you the danger of jesting with the names of noble 
ladies.” 

“ My Heaven ! yes. I am bleeding fast ; and yet, if the 
Lady Ash kirk doth really make that precious salve,” said Kin- 
cavil, with true Scottish obstinacy, “ tell her for God’s love to 
send me a pot thereof, for I am enduring the torments of hell !” 
and he reclined against a stone, pale and motionless, with his 
beautiful doublet of blue velvet drenched in blood. 

Roland carefully wiped and sheathed his favourite Italian 
sword with the air of a man who was used to such encounters ; 
and after vainly endeavouring to stanch the crimson torrent, 
he hastened to the Watergate, from whence he sent the under- 
warders to look after the wounded man, and then walked up 
the street towards the house of the countess, as if nothing had 
liappened. 

A thrust or so through the body was a mere nothing in 
those days. 


TBE king's ADVOCATB. 




CHAPTER XII. 

EDINBURGH IN 1537. 

'itisiaiied on hills, her head near starry bowers, 

Edina shines amid protecting powers ; 

Religious temples guard her on the east, 

And Mars strong towers defend her on the west ; 

For sceptres nowhere stands a town more fit, 

Nor where a queen of all the world might sit • 

Be this thy praise, above all be most brave, 

No man did e’er defame thee but a slave” 

Arthur Johnstone, 1630. 

The countess Margaret was attired in her great capuclion of 
James the Fourth’s days; it was turned back above the apex 
of her stupendous coif, and flowed over her shoulders. Her 
lofty figure and towering head dress completely dwarfed Jane 
and her companions, whose triangular velvet hoods were of a 
less imjiosing form. The whole family and household were 
about to set forth for St. Giles, and Roland met the procession 
in the archway. The old lady was looking unusually grave, 
for that morning she had put on her stocking's with the wrong 
side outwards — an infallible omen of misfortune. We have 
said the whole household, for in addition to several female 
attendants and the black page, there were Gilzean Seton, the 
countess’s esquire, or seneschal, and six or eight tall fellows in 
steel bonnets and corslets, armed with Jed wood axes and 
wheel-lock pistols — a new weapon, which had just then been 
introduced from Italy, and was esteemed _one of the wonders 
of mechanism. These were all of iron, butted like the pommel 
of a poniard, and were fired by the rapid revolution of a wheel 
against a piece of sulphuret of iron, which was secured like 
the flint of a modern musket, but had the cock on that side 
where of late we have seen the pan. 

Gilzean and his companions were all clad in the countess’s 
livery, (rather worn-looking certainly) but all having on their 
sleeves the coronet and green dragon of the Setons, spouting 
fire. 

The earl, still disguised, and bearing his long sword, marched 
among them; but by their whispers and subdued manner in 
his presence, it was evident to Roland that the secret identity 
of his new valet was known to them all. 


S4 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


“Rash lord !” thought he; “if one of these should prove a 
traitor.” 

“ 1 see a reproach in your eye,” said the earl, in a low tone, 
and with an acuteness that somewhat startled Roland. “ But 
think you that iny father’s roof ever sheltered a slipper-helmet 
so pitiful, that he would betray his son ? I trow not. Nay, 
nay. Sir Roland, the vassals of our house are all good men and 
true.” 

“ And such my husband ever found them,” said the countess, 
looking with a proud smile from her tall son to his stately 
followers ; “for the fathers of mair than one of these my buirdly 
lads died by his bridle-rein under King James the Fourth, of 
fifude and gallant memorie.” 

“Now, Sir Roland,” said lady Jane, as she took his proffered 
arm, with a smile on her coral lip ; “ you come not by stealth 
to visit us to-day. The king and his displeasure — ” 

“ May go to the ” 

“ Fie ! I hope thy debarcation of cannon is over, and that 
jJbou art free to bask in my smiles for the rest of the day ?” 

“ It is over,” replied Roland, avoiding the eye of the earl,- 
wlio perceived a sword-thrust in his doublet, and a rent in his 
Velvet mantle, where none had been visible the day before ; 
“ and to-morrow I am to show them all to the queen, and 
must, with my own hands, fire ofi' the great gun Meg for her 
behoof, l^y Jove ! I will carry off the cock from St. Anthony’s 
spire at Leith !” 

“ And what of his dainty dame,” said the countess, as they 
proceeded up the street; “hast heard how her health is this 
morning ?” 

“I have not; but if I am to judge from the unwonted 
reserve of the king, I should deem her poorly enough.” 

“ His reserve ?” said the earl, scornfully ; “ and thus he vents 
his petulance on a gallant knight, as he would upon his pimps 
of the house of Arran — those rascally Hamiltons,” he added, 
with eyes fiashing fire, “ who, gorged to their full with the 
plunder of our kinsmen, are building unto themselves strengths 
from which even our valour can never drive them — castles and 
towers, to which the palaces of Lochmaben and Linlithgow 
are but huts and sheilings.” 

“Oh! hush, ye unwise bairn,” said the countess; “hush, 
and take your place among the serving men, lest we be seen 
conversing, and so excite suspicion. Let us not talk harshly 
of this puir French stranger, who, father St. Bernard tells m^ 


THE king’s advocate. 


85 


bath a deadly disease, which preyeth upon he* vitals, and will, 
ere long, bear her to the grave.” 

“Disease,” exclaimed Jane and her companions, with sur- 
prise ; “ and what is this disease ?” 

“ ’Tis a catarrh, which descendeth daily into her stomach, 
and must, sooner or later, cause death, for it hath defied the 
most skilful physicians and apothegars of France and Italy. 
Yet, were she mine ain bairn, or had I the place o’ that fush- 
ionless body, Madame de Montreuil, I would soon make her 
whole and well.” 

“ How, how. Lady Ashkirk ?” asked Sybil, and the others, 
who put great faith in the countess’s skill as a leech ; and 
really, at salving a slash from a sword, or stanching a thrust 
from a poniard, few in Edinburgh equalled her ; and it was a 
time when she found plenty of patients. 

“ ’Tis a great se<jret, and yet withal a simple one ; for with 
it my mother, the Lady Jean Gordon, of Glenbucket (quhora 
God assollizie), made a whole man of her sister’s son, the abbot 
of Pluscardine, who hath now departed to the company of the 
saints. ’Tis the first egg that a pullet hath layed (and mark 
ye, damsels, it must be layed upon a Friday), beat up widder- 
shins with the first dew of ' the morning, and with thirteen 
drops of holy water, for ye ken there is a charm in that num- 
ber; and this simple, if taken as the first food for nine successive 
mornings, would cure her. Gif it failed, there is one other 
mode — by applying a stone called a magnet^ of potent and 
miraculous [)ower, to the pit of the stomach, and repeating the 
woi'd Abrodoetia three times ; .whilk failing, we must trust to 
God, for then it can be no other than the demon Archeus, who 
at times takes possession of the stomach, as the learned Pai-a- 
celsus told father St. Bernard, when he dwelt with him at th€ 
Scottish cloister of Wurtzbiirg, in the year 1528.” 

“ Mother of God !” exclaimed all the girls, looking at each 
other with fear, for the countess’s manner was so serious, and 
she quoted such imposing names, that even Roland put his 
hand to his waist-belt, as if to assure himself that there was no 
such tenant as the said Archeus under it. 

“ I shall die with fear if ever I feel ill after this,” said Sybil: 
“ I shall be sure to think I am possessed of a demon. Wouldst 
thou not, cousin Archibald ? ” 

“ Mass ! ” replied the earl, “ I would drown the demon in 
good wine, and if that failed, should exorcise him m waina 
!]s<j[uebagh.” 


86 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


Rolnnd could not restrain a sensation of uneasiness during 
this conversation ; for though deeply imbued with superstition, 
like every man at that time, and as a soldier believing a little 
in suits of charmed mail, that rendered the wearer invulnerable, 
he knew that the vulgar regarded the countess (like the lady 
of Buccleugh in the next age) with some terror for her abstruse 
knowledge; and at the present crisis he had no wish, cer- 
tainly, that this suspicion should be increased. 

The High-street, which had just been paved for the first time, 
was gay and crowded, for all the elite of the court and 
city, with their attendants, were thronging towards the church 
of St Giles. All the balconies, erected for the queen’s 
entrance, had been taken down ; the banners were long since 
removed, but the garlands yet displayed their faded dowers 
around the various crosses which then encumbered the central 
sti’eet — though less so, certainly, than the innumerable out- 
shots and projections, outside stairs, turnpike towers, round, 
square, and octagon ; wooden balconies and stone arcades, which 
imparted an aspect so picturesque to the High-street and Can- 
ongate. The total absence of all manner of vehicles, or other 
obstruction (save watermen with their barrels, or a few 
equestrians) made the middle of the street — or, as it was popu- 
larly named, “ the crown of the causeway,” the most conve- 
nient place for walking, as well as the most honourable. Thus 
the possession of it was frequently disputed at point of sword, 
for in those good old times, no man of equal rank would yield 
to another the breadth of a hair unless he was of the same 
name — for clanship was the great bond of brotherhood — the 
second religion of the Scottish people, by which the humblest 
in the land can yet count kindred with their nobles. 

As a lady, there was little chance of the countess being 
obstructed, unless some noble dame of the opposite faction was 
descending with her train towards the palace ; and now, as she 
had reached the more crowded thoroughfare, she took the arm 
of Sir Roland Vipont; her daughter, with the ladies x\lison, 
Logan, and Sybil, followed ; while the armed servants marched 
before and behind, with axes shouldered. 

Crowds attired in velvet cloaks and plumed bonnets, satin 
hoods and silk mantles ; Dominicans in black robes, and Car 
melites in white ; Hospitallers of St. Anthony, and Franciscans 
in grey, were seen pouring like a living flood into the various 
doors of St. Giles ; and, though it was then apparently desti- 
tute of shops, the vast High-street seemed to glitter with gaudv 


THE kino’s advocate. 


Hi 

dresses in the gay sunshine. The places where the merchants 
sold their wares were mere dens, to which stairs descended 
abruptly from the pavement ; the goods were thus exposed for 
sale in those stone vaults which formed the superstructure of 
every Scottish edifice. All the principal markets were kept 
in other parts of the town, fo’*, in the year of grace 1477, 
when the potent and valiant knight Sir James Crichton of 
Ruthven was lord provost of our good city, it had been ordain- 
ed that hay and corn should be sold in the Cowgate, and salt 
in Niddry’s Wynd. That the crairaes or booths, for the retail 
of goods, should be ranged from the Bellhouse to the Tron ; 
that wood and timber should be sold westward of the Grey 
Friary ; the shoemakers’ stalls stood between Forrester’s Wynd 
and the dyke of Dalryraple’s yard ; and the malt-market where 
also “ partrickes, pluvars, capones, and conyngs” were sold, 
occupied Blackfriars Wynd ; the cloth-merchants and bonnet- 
makers dwelt in the Upper Bow ; while the dealers in all man- 
ner of irongraith, dagger, and bow-makers, dalmascars of 
swords, armourers, lorimers, and lock-makers, were domiciled 
under the shadow of that strong and stately barrier, the Nether- 
bow. 

There, immediately below the arcades of a tenement bear- 
ing the arms of the lord abbot of Kinloss, stood a shop, the 
small deep windows of which were secured by gratings, that 
were each like an iron harrow, built into the ponderous mason- 
ry. In the good town, we still build our walls three feet thick : 
but in the days of James V., they built them six, and even 
seven feet thick. A board over the door announced it to 
be the shop of John Moss7nan, Jeweller, and Makker of Silver- 
work to y * ICiny's Majestie ; and here the countess and 
her party tarried a moment to see the new crown of queen 
Magdalene, whose coronation was to take place in a month or so. 

Master Mossman, a short and pursy, but well-led burgess, 
clad in a cassocke-coat of Galloway cloth, was just in the act 
of giving the finishing touches to a silver maizer, or drink- 
ing-cup. He rose up with all his workmen and apprentices on 
the entrance of the countess, and welcomed her to his shop 
with studious politeness, though his chief patrons were the 
Ilamiltons. His premises were vaulted with stone, and painted 
with various ornamental designs between the glazed cupboards 
of oak, which contained chased and elaborate vessels of sil- 
ver, sword and dagger-hilts, buckles, and falcon-bells of every 
pattern and device. A small statue of St. Eloi, the patron of 


88 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


r ■ 

his craft, occupied a Gothic niche above the fii e-place, so tha\ 
the silversmith might warm himself when saying his prayers 
in winter, which was a saving of time ; and on each side there- 
of hung the steel bonnets, swords, and axes with which he 
and his men armed them for weekly duty, as municipal guards 
within the eight Portes of the city. 

“ Good Master Mossman,” said Roland, on seeing that the 
wealthy artificer looked somewhat uneasily at the jackrnen, 
whose swords and axes made such a terrible clatter on his 
stone floor, “our lady the countess of Ashkirk would be favour- 
ed with a view of the queen’s new crown, that she may judge 
of thy handiwork, anent which we hear so much daily.” 

The jeweller, who had feared that the countess (whose cir 
cumstances he knew were the reverse of flourishing,) had come 
to order a quantity of plate, breathed more freely, and bowed 
almost to his red garters ; whereupon the countess curtsey- 
ed, for he was known to be one of the richest burgesses and 
f]-eeholders in Edinburgh, and his voice bore all before it at the 
council-board. From a round box, strongly bound with brass 
and lined with purple velvet, he drew forth the glittering diadem 
for the queen consort — the same crown which James VI. took 
to London in 1603, and which the government ought in honour 
to restore to the castle of Edinburgh. It is composed of pure 
gold from Crawfordmuir, and is enriched with many precious 
stones and curious embossings. 

“ It is a fair gaud,” said the countess, sighing ; “ but my 
mind misgives me sorely that the puir bairn for whom it is 
intended may never live to wear it.” 

“ Poor little queen ! ” said Jane, with moistened eyes, “ if all 
be as thou sayest, her days are indeed numbered.” 

The silversmith seemed surprised, and his men raised their 
heads to listen ; but the delight expressed by the ladies at the 
jewels and workmanship of this new addition to the regalia 
gratified the artificer, a smile spread over his jovial visage," and 
he gallantly held it over the head of htdy Jane, saying — 

“ My fair lady, it would become thee as well as her for whom 
it is intended.” 

“ By my soul. Master Mossman, thou hast more the air of a 
gallant than a mere worker of metals,” said Vipont, pleased 
with the compliments of the silversmith, but, like every soldier, 
unable to conceal how lightly he valued the mere niechanic 
“ and I marvel much that thou didst not in thy youth renounce 
the hammer and the pincers for the helmet* and partisan, as 


THE king’s advocate. 


89 


being better suited to one who could so compliment a fair 
demoiselle.” 

“ You wrong me, noble sir,” said the silvei-smith, calmly, “ I 
have borne arms in my youth ” 

“ Under our gude king James IV. ?” interposed the countess. 

“ Yea, madame,” replied the burgess, with a kindling eye ; 
“ three hundred of us marched to Flodden under the banner of 
provost Lauder ; but few, unco few, ever again heard the ding o’ 
the Tron-bell. But, as deacon of the honourable corporation 
of hammermen, I deem myself nowise inferior. Sir Roland, to 
what I was in my youth.” 

“ Assuredly not, good Master Mossman,” said the countess, 
“ for I have ever esteemed thee an honest and worthy citizen ; 
and we may remember how, at the last feast of St. Eloi, our 
good father St Bernard illustrated the great honour which God 
hath bestowed on artizans in all ages.” 

“True, madame; Tubal Cain. was a cunning artificer in all 
manner of brass and iron-work ; Porus, king of the Indies, was 
the son of a shaver, and worked himself as a puir tinkler body 
and mender of kail-pots ; Agathocles, king of Sicily, was a pot- 
ter and maker of crocks, cans, and milk-luggies ; Zeno of Con- 
stantia was a puir wabster, that clothed the naked from his 
ain loom ; and Artogorus, lord of Cyconia, was the son of a 
cook ; nor must we forget Joseph the carpenter, the spouse of 
the blessed Virgin, whilk, as my neighbour deacon Plane say- 
eth, will ever redound tO' the immortal honour of his craft, the 
wrights.” 

Sir Roland, who did not expect such a volley of hard names 
to be opened upon him, had nothing more to urge, but bowed 
with a pleasant smile as they retired, leaving the king’s jewel- 
ler master of the field. 

At the same moment Nichol Birrel, who had been inquisi- 
tively peering through the grated window, hastened away and 
mingled with the crowd. 


90 


JANE 8ETON ; OB. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

SAINT GILES. 

“ You might have heard a pebble feill, 

A beetle hum, a cricket sing. 

An owlet flap his boding wing, 

On Giles’s steeple tall. 

The antique buildings climbing high, 

Whose gothic frontlets sought the sky,” 

Marmion, Canto V 

At the great entrance of St. Giles’s church (a deep and lofty 
gothic doorway) the steps of which were yet stained with the 
gallant blood of M‘Clellan of Bombie, among the gaily attired 
crowd that was pressing up the flight and into that magnificent 
fane, the countess, with her friends and followers, encountered 
Redhall, with his friend (Kinloss,) and his followers, Nicliol 
Birrel, Bobbie, and Sanders Screw, whose oflicial capacities did 
not prevent their appearance among his retinue, like whom, 
they wore steel bonnets, and were barbed to the teeth. 

The king’s advocate bowed profoundly, and, with all respect, 
fell back a pace or so, while the countess and her ladies swept 
into the church like a frigate followed by four cutters. A true 
gallant of the day, Roland dipped his hand into the font, and 
assisted Jane to holy water, scattering the rest over the poor 
people who knelt at the doorway, looBng for alms in silence. 

All the windows of this great edifice were then filled with 
stained glass ; thus the prismatic hues of many a martyr’s 
robe, many a blood-red cross, many a glorious halo and gaudy 
armorial blazon were thrown on the silent throng who crowded 
the choir, the nave, and the transepts of this majestic church. 
Now it is divided into three ; then it was open, and unincum- 
bered by galleries stood in all the pristine glory of its gothic 
architecture, two hundred feet in length by one hundred and 
twenty in breadth, the four arms of the vast cross being open 
under the stupendous central arches which sprung away aloft, 
upholding the square tower and mural crown of its spire. 
There stood the great altar, the splendid canopy of which 
uprose from columns of burnished brass. Underneath was the 
pix of gold, where the host was kept; above this stood a 
gigantic crucifix of silver, and the solid candlesticks of the 


THE king’s advocate. 


91 


8aine metal, which were of great size and weight. At the 
reformation, these and all other sacred utensils were seized by 
the provost, who ordered the brazen pillars to be cast into 
cannon for the ramparts of the city. 

The pulpit was yet unoccripied ; but round the four sides 
of the great altar were many persons kneeling in prayer. 
Five streams of brilliantly-coloured sunlight fell from the south 
aslant the great church, from the five vaulted chapels which 
Johne Skayer and Johne of Stone, two cunning masons, built 
during the provostry of that “ good man and noble,’’ the laird 
of Netherliberton. Then the church was without other seats 
than those cushions and stools which were borne by servants, 
or by cavaliers for the use of the ladies they accompanied. 
Many a group in velvet cloaks and high ruffs, with satin train.'- 
and hoods of cramma.sie ; many a moustachioed and belted 
man, half noble and wholly soldier, many a shaven friar, and 
many a sweet young girl with that fair hair so famed in Scot- 
tish song (the golden hair which Kaphael loved so well), were 
kneeling before the lesser altars, of which that great temple, 
“ our mother kirk of old St. Giles,” boasted not less than forty. 

The most magnificent were those of the Holy Blood, the 
Holy Cross de Lucano, Nostre Domine, St. Michael de Monte 
Tomba, Our Lady of Piety, and St. Eloi, the mo.st eastern 
shrine, which belonged to the gallant craftsmen, as being that 
of their peculiar patron. Behind it they had placed a window 
whereon were painted the elephant and crowned hammer of 
the principal corporation, and before it hung a beautiful lamp 
of silver, which was said to have been brought by them from 
the sack of Jerusalem, and the light of which was never 
extinguished. The most beautifully-decorated columns of the 
church are four, where this altar stood. Like the branches of 
a forest, the ribs of the groined roof sprung away aloft into the 
dusky clerestory, through the deep windows of which fell many 
a fiake of light of every rainbow hue, revealing many a gro- 
tesque carving and many a grim old head. 


“ Many a scutcheon and banner riven” 


decorated the side chapels, and many a sword and helmet 
were rusting above the tombs of departed valour. Many 
marble statues of saints and warriors, of mitred abbots and 
good old citizens, were standing there in niches, with theii 
hands clasped in one eternal prayer; for there now lie the 


JANE seton; or, 



dead of more than seven hundred yearn, with the wise Motr^i 
and Montrose the loyal ; for many a proud peer and valiant 
warrior, the faithful and the false, the just and the unjust, the 
impious and the true, the beautiful and the deformed, all blent 
in one common and undistinguishable dust, have mouldered 
beneath the pavement of its deep vaults and solemn aisles. 

Bowing to the great altar, the countess, with all her train, 
passed down the church towards the north-east pillar, which is 
called the king's^ as it beam the arms of James IL, where she 
usually sat, for her husband, Earl John, lay near it, before the' 
altar of St. John the Baptist. The servants arranged the 
kneeling cushions, and the countess received her velvet-bound 
missal from Sabrino, who sat down behind her, not on his 
knees, but a la turqm^ which made the people, who viewed the 
poor negro with fear and hostility, mutter among themselves.'- 

“ Gudesake ! she bringeth her black devil into the very 
kirk wi’ her !” said deacon Plane, under his thick beard, to hia 
better half. 

“ 1 could have sworn upon the gospels, gudeman, that tha 
Holy water hissed when she dipped her hand in the font.” 

“ Her finger, ye mean, neighbour,” said another, behind hi?, 
bonnet ; “ think ye a wizard body would dip in mair than they 
could help ?” 

“ Wheesht, Elsie — Losh keep us, the thing is looking at ye !” 

“ Weel, I carena a bodle — let it look!” replied the woman 
confidently, while feeling for a blessed relique of St. Roque, 
which she carried in her bosom ; but Sabrino grinned, ana 
showed all his white teeth, and, what was still more appalling, 
an almost total absence of tongue — the poor being was a mute, 
or nearly so — upon which the woman shrunk close to her hus- 
band, and began to cross herself with great energy ; while at the 
same moment the provost of St. Giles and the sixteen preben- 
daries, preceded by their curate and crossbearer, the sacristan 
ringing a bell, the^eadle, the minister of the choir bearing a 
standard, four choristers, and eight tapers, passed through the 
church, in procession, to theii stalls within the sanctuary^ softly 
and noiselessly, while all the vast congregation knelt, and 
when again they rose. Father St. Bernard was in the pul])it, 
which projected from one of the four great columns sustaining 
the spire. 

He was a mild and benevolent-looking old priest, whom all 
the citizens loved for his piety, goodness, and attention to th« 
rick and poor during the frightful pestilence of 1520 . His 


THE KING’S ADVOCATE. 


9.1 


hair was white as snow, his grey eyes were bright and gentle. 
Father St. Bernard was now in his sixtieth year ; and, when 
accompanying the Scottish army as a confessor, had seen the 
battles of Sauchie, of Flodden, and Linlithgow. 

On this day he had elaborately decorated and lighted the 
shrine of St. Giles, and his statue, the same which the reformers 
threw into the North Loch, was encircled by a wreath of roses, 
made by Jane Seton and her companions ; around it was hung 
a piece of red cloth, then known as “ Sanct Geiles’ coat,” and 
before it, in a casket of chased silver, lay his skeleton arm — a 
relique which the Knight of Gourtoun had received from Louis 
XL of France, and bequeathed to the church. 

Oblivious of the oration he had come to hear, of the mag- 
nificent manner in which the church was decorated, and of the 
attentive crowds that filled it, Redhall leaned against a column 
not far from the king’s, and watched attentively the group 
which knelt beside the countess. When Father St. Bernard 
prayed, Jane and Vipont read from the same missal, and their 
heads were so close that her forehead touched his ear. Red- 
hall ground his teeth ; and when they turned to each other and 
smiled (for they could sympathize without speaking), he felt 
his heart swell with suppressed passion. His attention, how- 
ever, soon became divided between Jane and her lover’s attend- 
ant, who had placed his long sword against the king’s pillar, 
and while affecting to be listening to the panegyric on St. 
Giles, was in reality studying intently the vast assemblage, and 
dealing covert glances of hostility, for everywhere he recog- 
nised the colours, the crests, and badges of the Hamiltons. 

“ Despite that voluminous beard, and those painted eye- 
brows, yonder fellow is either the Earl of Ashkirk or the 
devil !” thought Redhall ; “ but let me be wary, for he is slip- 
pery as an eel. So, so ! our good Sir Roland Vipont, the king’s 
favourite minion, is a resetter of rebels — hah ! I have it now" 
He almost said this aloud, so bright, or rather so dark and 
so devilish, was the thought that flasl>ed upon his mind. 
Beckoning to his henchman and factotum — 

“ Nicliol,” said he, “ thou seest that valet in the livery of 
Sir Roland Vipont ?” 

“ He wi’ that beard like a colt’s tail ?” 

“ The same. I would fain have him committed to sure 
yiyard — privately though ; not in the castle, for there every one 
would hear of it an hour after, but quietly, in the vault of my 
own house here. Dost thou understand me ?” 


94 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ Wi’ ease can we do so, my lord,” replied Nichol, with a 
grin on his massive mouth, “ for by the use o’ my long lugs I 
have just learned that he is to attend the Lady Seton on a 
visit to St. Katherine’s convent to-night.” 

“ ‘ Slife ! dost thou say so ? And that captain of the ord- 
nance, doth he go too ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Ah ! and wherefore ?” 

“ Because it seems that the captain of the king’s guard and 
that gay buckie, Leslie of Balquham, are to sup with him to- 
night.” 

“ Thou art sure of this ?” said Redhall, whose heart glowed, 
and whose eyes sparkled. 

“ Sure as I am a born man.” 

“ Watch well, then, and learn more, if you can. Oh, Nichol 
Birrel, thou art worth thy weight in gold to me — yea, gold 
trebly refined ! Continue to watch them strictly while I go to 
his eminence the cardinal concerning a raid against the Doug- 
lasses ; for, mark me, both the Lady Seton and yonder valet of 
her squire must be safe within our bolts and bars to-night. I 
have suspected that long beard concealed something for these 
some days past.” 

“ And so have I, your lordship.” 

“ Indeed — remarkable ! and you think 

“ As your lordship doth.” 

“ That he is no other than the Earl of Ashkirk ?” 

The brodder — who, in fact, had never bestowed a thought 
upon the matter — now opened his eyes wide with astonish- 
ment. 

“ Deil gae owre us ! he is worth a bushel o’ silver merks.” 

“ Which I will pay thee privately, for thy secrecy and assist- 
ance.” 

“ And by and bye, I may get the other thousand from the 
council — eh ?” 

“ Of course.” 

“ And Sir Roland ?” 

“ Is about to be sent on a fool’s errand into Douglasdale.” 

“ Disguised as a black Iriar, I sought admittance to his lodg- 
ing at St. Anne’s-yard while he was yet a-bed ; for I was bent 
on probing his wound anew,” whispered this bloodhound, with 
a terrible smile ; “ but his servitor, a wary auld birkie, that hath 
served in the border wars, said, ‘ Na, na, my master needs na 
ghostly counsel, gude father ; indeed he seldom confesses, save 


THE king's advocate. 


95 


now and then to Father St. Bernard.’ ‘ But I am a notable 
apothgar,’ said I, under my cowl, ‘ and cure a’ maimer o’ sword 
wounds, torbye and attour shot-holes.’ ‘Quaye,’ he replied, 
‘ but my master hath got from the Lady Ashkirk a notable 
red salve, that cures a’ thing, frae a p^-ick wi’ a pin to a slash 
wi’ a Jethart axe. He had but a clean stab frae a poniard, and 
the salve hath made him whole :’ and so, my lord, 1 came away 
like a hound that loses the scent.” 

“ Grood !” muttered tlie advocate, opening his note-book. 
“ Vipont seldom goes to confession (that will be information for 
the cardinal and Fynnard the grand inquisitor), save to the 
Father St. Bernard [that looketh like conspiracy) ; and he hath 
actually received a pot of salve from the Countess of Ashkirk, 
which savoureth of sorcery and working by damnable charms. 
By my soul, Nichol Birrel,” he said, closing his tablets, “ thou 
art an invaluable fellow. The cardinal would give his best 
benefice for such a spy. I will find military service for the 
master of the ordnance, and can also dispose of the countess, 
I have them all in my grasp ! Oh, how subtly the web is 
weaving, and how tangled are the meshes of the plot that will 
lay them all at my mercy.” 

Redhall unwittingly thought aloud, and his fierce whisper 
was heard by Birrel. Under the tufted masses of his shock- 
head, the ruffian gave a leer of delight and intelligence, at 
least so much as his yellow bilious visage could express, and 
drew nearer the countess, while Redhall, softly and on tiptoe^ 
lest the jingle of his silver spurs might be heard, hastened from 
the church, to seek the lord chancellor (to whom James in- 
trusted everything) concerning the proposed raid to Douglas- 
dale and other projects of which the reader will soon learn 
more. 

During this conversation. Father St. Bernard had proceeded 
far with his oration on St. Giles, the abbot and confessor, with 
a pathos and power of oratory that enchained the attention of 
his hearers, while it fired and enchanted them. Unacquainted 
with care, and long separated from the world, the aspect of 
this venerable prebendary was singularly saintly and whining; 
his eye was alternately mild and penetrating, and his voice 
was soft and persuasive. All were irresistibly drawn towards 
him ; and while he spoke, the most profound silence reigned 
throughout the long dim aisles and misty perspective of that 
vast and crowded church. With all that filial love and respect 
which of old a catholic gir| fpjf for her confessor- Lady Jane 


96 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


Seton kept her bright eyes fixed on' St. Bernard's face. She 
was proud of his oratory, his clear and beautiful language, his 
fervid enthusiasm, and deep research into abstruse writing and 
the lore of ancient days. 

We can give but an outline of how the good father traced 
the earthly pilgrimage of the city’s patron saint, from the day 
when his eyes first opened to the light in ancient Athens. “ It 
was towards the close of the seventh century,” he continued, 
‘and his birth was noble as any in old Cecropia. The dwell- 
ing of his father stood near the temple of the Eumenides, and 
under the brow of that very platform from whence the blessed 
apostle Paul had preached to the Athenians.” 

He described his extraordinary learning, his deep and solemn 
piety, which won for him the admiration of Greece, and other 
countries far beyond his native province of Achaia ; so much 
so that it soon became impossible for him to enjoy in his splen- 
did home the retirement and meditation for which he longed. 
Shrinking alike from the applause of men and the dangerous 
temptations of wealth and prosperity, he gave all he possessed 
to the poor, and bade farewell for ever to Athens and Achaia the 
beautiful. Sailing towards France, he landed on the open and 
desert shore near the Rhone, from whence, with a cross on his 
staft’ he travelled into wild places, teaching the blessed gospels 
to the pagan Gauls, until he reached a forest in the district of 
Nismes, where then stood a city built by the Roman warriors 
of Augustus ; and there still men and beasts fought like demons 
in the amphitheatre of Arennes, and the poor pagans worshipped 
their graven idols in the temple of Diana — for the savage Goths 
then held the city and all the land around it. 

“ There, in the vast forest which had been growing since the 
deluge, St. Giles built him a hermitage, and there,” continued 
the preacher, “ subsisting on the berries and other wild fruits 
of the desert, with water only for his drink, he passed many 
years in the voiceless solitude, till, purified by prayer, disen- 
gaged from earth, and filled with the ardour of his holy medi- 
tations, he became as an angel rather than a nian.” He re- 
lated, too, how the saint planted his cross-staff* before the door 
ot his hermitage, and watered it daily until it took root, sprouted, 
and grew into a stately orange-tree ; and how (like the holy 
St. Aicard), having once in forgetfulness shaved his '^ald crown 
so late .on a Saturday night that he encroached on the Sunday 
morning, when turning about he saw the devil — and here every 
one crossed thernselves — yea, the devil, busily picking up every 


THE king’s advocate. 


97 


aiora of hair, to produce the whole against him at the divine 
tribunal : and how severely he was punished thereafter ; for a 
savage Gothic chief had him seized, scourged, and thrown into 
one of the Roman towers of Nisrnes, where he prayed to his 
Maker in great agony of spirit. 

Lo ! in the night a halo shone around him, his fetters fell 
otf, the doors of his dungeon revolved, and the clear light of 
the stars beamed upon him. A deep slumber fell upon his 
guards, and St. Giles walked forth in peace, to seek once more 
the shade of his miraculous orange-tree and his btdoved her- 
mitage near the dark green woods and bright blue waters of 
the Rhone. 

Now spreading fast in Gaul, the Goths had made themselves 
lords of the two Narbonensis and the three Acquitani ; in their 
wild ravages they destroyed even the forests, and by these and 
their cruelty brought so sore a famine upon the land, that even 
the saint, in his extreme old age, would have perished, but 
for the fruit of his orange-tree, and the milk of a doe, which 
visited him daily, sent doubtless by the Lord, and which be- 
came his sole companion and sustenance ; and it chanced that 
when Wamba, king of the Goths, was hunting one day in the 
forest of Nisrnes, he was about to slay the doe, but spared her 
at the saint’s intercession, upon which lonie, his queen, who 
was almost dying of a grievous sickness, became straightway 
restored to her former strength and beauty. 

St. Giles outlived the famine, and by the miracles he wrought 
became famous throughout all the land of Gaul, and died at a 
wondrous old age in that year when the infidel Saracens sacked 
Nisrnes ; the recapture of which by Charles Martel, mayor ol 
the palace, and the great victory of the Christian knights be- 
tween Tours and Poictiers, in the year of our redemption, 728, 
he foretold, with his last breath ; and so, in the full odour of 
sanctity, he passed away to heaven. 

“ The doe, the companion of his solitude, was found lying 
dead by his side ; but to this day,” continued the venerable 
priest, in conclusion, “ in memory of the saint, we may yet see 
her retained in the banner of this good city, upon which the 
blessed St. Giles is now looking down, as upon that of his 
chosen children, through the dim vista of eight long centuries.”* 

* St Giles was the crest of Edinburgh until 1560, when an anchor 
was substituted by the Reformers, but the doe still remains as a sup- 
porter. 


98 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


He then blessed the people, and descending into one of the 
side aisles, disappeared. 

The vast multitudes who thronged the church now poured 
from all its doorways like a flood upon the streets, and down 
the steep old burial-ground that descended on the south towards 
the Cowgate (a place of interment coeval with the first huts of 
the city), and where a little doorway in tlie wall, at the bottom, 
gave egress to that thoroughfare, then so fashionable. It stood 
just beside the little chapel of the Holy-rood, which survived 
till the end of the sixteenth centuiy. 

As closely as they dared, Nichol Birrel and his friend Dob- 
bie, with their poniards in their belts and wooden rosaries 
dangling at their better wrists, followed the countess and her 
party home to her residence, near the court end of the town ; 
and thereafter stationed themselves at the Cross and Gillstoup^ 
a small change-house, the low grated windows of which com- 
manded a view of the archway, whereon were carved the coro- 
net and arms of the Setons of Ashkirk; and there the two 
worthy followers of Redhall sat down to drink and watch for 
the remainder of the afternoon. 

At six o’clock. Sir Roland Vipont, with his bonnet on one 
side, his feather erect, and his rapier tilting up a corner of his 
mantle, like a true dandy of the sixteenth century, came forth 
alone, and descended the street towards Holyrood. 

“ Brawly !” muttered Bobbie, rubbing his large misshapen 
paws with exultation ; “ the dare-devil’s awa, but the valet is 
yet there.” 

“ Yea ; and the visit to the sister of the Sheens yet holdeth 
gude. But have ye any money ?” asked the pricker. 

“ Nocht but a Flemish rydar, and three of old king James’s 
gowden pennies.” 

“ Ho there, gudewife !” cried Birrel, with a grin of delight 
on his mastiff mouth, while he clattered on the hard table 
with his rosary; “fetch us twa mair mutchkins of your wine 
— that red wine, which I ken right well ye get smuggled con 
trary to the act, straight frae the F’emmings o’ the Barn- 
quick !” 

And while their slipshod attendant was bringing the fresh 
supply, these worthies proceeded to examine their poniards, in 
case they should be required, and tried whether the guards 
were true, the points sharp, the hilts fitting well to the blades, 
and the blades to the hilts ; for to them deeds of outrage and 
cruelty were the business of life ; and we may add that, by the 


THE KIN&’s ADVOCATE, 


99 


loose lives of the clergy prior to the Reformation — a measure 
which that very laxity of discipline brought about — religion 
and morality were fast sinking to a low ebb in Scotland. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE CHANCELLOR OF SCOTLAND. 

“ I made such service to our Sovereign King, 

He did promote me still to high estate ; 

A prince above all priestis for to reign, 

Archbishop of Si. Andrew’s consecrate. 

To that honour when I was elevate, 

My prideful heart was not content withal, 

Till that I was created cardinal.” 

Sir D. Lindesay’s Tragedie of the Ca' Uriah 

With his long rapier under his arm, and his bonnet drawn well 
over his face, the lord advocate, with all the air of a man who 
has found a clue to something, or is mentally pursuing a distant 
object, hurried, as we have said, from the church, and threaded 
his way between the fleshers’ stalls, which encumbered both 
sides of the street about the Netherbow and arch of the Black- 
friars Wynd. 

Descending the latter, he reached the residence of cardina'i 
Beaton, where, through the medium of several pages, esquires, 
and pikemen, he sent up his name, requesting an audience, and 
was immediately admitted. 

David Beaton was then in the prime of life ; his stature was 
commanding, his air was dignified, his bearing noble. As we 
may see by the portraits of him, still preserved at Edinburgh, 
his face was grave, dark, and eminently handsome ; his eyes 
were bright and piercing, and he wore his beard and mus- 
tachioes pointed a la cavalier, rather than shaven off like a 
priest. He was seated in an easy-chair, and wore his red 
baretta, black cassock, and gold cross. His large scarlet hat 
lay upon a side table, near the two-handed sword of his grand- 
father, old Sir David of Pitmilly. 

Our Scottish Wolsey was seated near a table covered with 
Dooks and papers ; there were several portfolios marked with 
the fleur-de-lys, the rose, the eagle, &c., containing the memo* 
randums of correspondence with France, England, the Empire 


JANE seton; ok, 


lOO 

and BO torth. The apartment, which was little and elegant, was 
hung wiih green damask flowered with leaves of red and gold ; 
his patrimonial arms, the blazon of “Bethune’s line of Bicar- 
die,” appeared above the mantelpiece. There was no fire, for 
the season was summer, and the andirons were burnished bright 
as silver. A book was half open in his hand, but his eyes were 
thoughtfuuv fixed on a window, through which he saw the an- 
tique builamgs of the opposite street, a sheep wynd, that 
led towards the Dominican monastery, the square tower and 
slated spire vt which shone in the light of the w'estern sun, and 
terminated tue view. His daughter, the Lady Margaret Beaton, 
a charming young girl with blue eyes and dark brown hair-- 
the same who, five years after, became the bride of the young 
Lord Lindsay, was sitting on a little tabourette by his side, 
decorating a haile kitten with ribbons. 

As she had been born prior to his taking vows of celibacy, 
the cardinal had no reason to conceal her ; but as soon as Sir 
Adam Otterburii entered, at a sign from her father, she kissed 
his hand, snatcoed the kitten, which she considered her peculiar 
property, placea a chair for the visitor, and withdrew. 

“ God be witn your eminence !” said Redhall, half kneeling, 
AS he saluted thti cardinal. 

“ And peace with you,” replied Beaton, with a gracious wave 
of the hand, which, while it pointed to a seat, passed also for a 
priestly benediction. He closed his book, “La Legende de 
Monseigneur Saint Dominique,” &c., an old black letter quarto, 
^^Imprime a Paris, 1495,” and continued — “Have I the pleasure 
of seeing Sir Adam as a friend, or in his official capacity ?” 

“ I trust your eminence will never consider my visits the less 
friendly because I come so frequently on the service of the 
state ; but now mine errand closely concerns the latter.” 

“ I think that thou, as lord advocate, and I, as lord chancel- 
lor, ought to be collared together, like a couple of questing 
dogs. Well, what in God’s name is astir now?” 

“ Treason !” 

“ That is nothing new.” 

“ Trafficking with the English — and it may be sorcery !” 

“ My God ! dost thou say so ? Those accursed Douglasses 
I warrant me !” 

Redhall gave an emphatic nod, and put one leg over the other 
The cardinal let fall his book, grasped the knobs of his chair, and 
reclined his head back as if he expected to hear something momen 
tous. “ Well, my lord, and what now of this turbulent tribe V 


THB king’s advocate. 


101 


“ I seek a carte blanche warrant of arrest and committal to 
ward — or rather, concurrence with it — does your eminence un- 
derstand ?” 

“ Agnus Dei !” said the cardinal, crossing, and speaking with 
great bitterness and energy ; “ how sad it is that, from being 
the bulwark and buckler of Scotland, the house of Angus and 
its allies have become her sworn foes. Too blindly the enemies 
of Arran, they never rest while a Hamilton lives, and are too 
much in Henry’s interest ever again to be true to Scotland. 
How was it when James assumed the government, and, by the 
intercession of Wolsey and myself, so unwisely permitted the 
ambitious earls of Ashkirk and of Angus to return home ? No 
sooner were their feet on Scottish ground, than, ever restless, 
they raised a faction to expel the queen-mother and the minister 
Arran, and came at once to blows about where the parliament 
should meet. ‘ I will hold it here,’ said the determined Arran. 
‘ Thou shalt hold it there,' said the imperious Angus. Then 
were banners displayed and lances lifted ; and Angus and Ash- 
kirk feared not to bend their cannon against the royal castle of 
Edinburgh, where the young king, the queen-mother, and their 
prime minister were residing. Then came trooping and hosting, 
and castles were stormed, and garrisoned, and stormed again * 
towns were burned and tenants plundered. The high-sheriff 
of Ayr slew the Earl of Cassilis ; the islesraen of Orkney ex- 
pelled and slew the Lord Caithness; the knight of Tulliallan 
slew the Abbot of Culrosse ; and some ruffian of hell murdered 
my stedfast friend and true. Sir Thomas Madelland of Bombie, 
at the door of St. Giles. (Red hall felt himself grow pale.) 
The Douglasses pillaged the castle of St. Andrews and the 
abbey of Dunfermline ; they fought the battles of Melrose and 
Linlithgow, where the good Earl of Lennox was so cruelly run 
thi ough the body after he had surrendered. The whole country 
seemed to be hastening to destruction, for the swords of the 
Douglasses bore all before them, and every post, place, and 
perquisite under the crown, every royal castle and office of 
state, was held by a Douglas. The royal guards were all 
Douglasses ; and the young king was their prisoner, while his 
people were reduced to slavery. Well! I then thought the 
time had come to bestir me,” continued the cardinal, with a 
smile of satisfaction. “ I did so ; and the king escaped from 
the tower of Falkland. He summoned the nobles in arms ai 
Stirling; the wheel of fate revolved again, and, deprived of 
place and power, the Douglasses were proscribed, forfeited, aPM 


102 


JANE seton; or, 


driven into England — England, whose kings have ever rejoiced 
in fanning the flame of Scottish civil war — the policy of 
hell, which none have adopted more than the present atrocious 
tyrant, their eighth Henry.” 

“ All this I know well,” said Redhall, endeavouring to repress 
his impatience at tliis retrospective reverie. 

“There, fostered by this heretic prince, they have become 
the enemies of their fatherland, the believers of a false doctrine, 
the rebels of their king and the accursed of their God. None 
has done more than the Lord Ashkirk to further a marriage 
between king James and a daughter of the mansworn Tudor; 
but happily, I have ever been victorious ; for the honour ard 
policy of Scotland and France require that they must league 
together against the grasping ambition and centralizing greed 
of England. Thou knowest that I have ever been for France, 
and bear about as much love for England as a tiger doth to a 
panther. When Henry oflfered his daughter to James, with the 
oflice of lieutenant-general of all England and Ireland, happily, 
I warned him of the gilded snare, and dismissed the ambassa- 
dor, Howard, with a remembrance of how England had treated 
the shipwrecked James I. When Godscallo came from the 
emperor Charles to ofter his sister Mary of Austria as a queen 
for Scotland, who defeated him, and turned his dangerous elo- 
quence against himself?” 

“Your eminence,” said Redhall, putting the left leg over the 
right. 

“ When he offered Donna Maria of Portugal, the daughter 
of Elinor of Austria,” resumed Beaton, with a smile of grati- 
fied vanity, “and boasted of her beauty and the sixty battles 
of her victorious uncle, who waived all his sophistry by a word ?” 

“ Your eminence, of course,” sighed Redhall. 

“ When Christian H. of Denmark offered his daughter, the 
Princess Dorothea, though she was already contracted to the 
beggarly elector Frederick, I dismissed him, and briefly too ; 
for my whole soul was bent on preserving the ancient league of 
amity, that together the banners of Scotland and France might 
be turned against their common enemy; and by my own 
energy, assisted by God and our Blessed Lady, I had the young 
queen Magdalene espoused to James; and now let the Dou- 
glasses do their worst, for, ratified before the holy altar of 
Notre Dame de Paris, that alliance can never be broken !” 

“ Death will break it,” said the advocate, revengefully, for he 
was somewhat irritated by this long preamble. “ Magdalene is 


THE king’s advocate. 


IM 

dying by inches, and there are abroad such rumours of sorcery 
ill the matter that I crave a wari-ant to seize ” 

“ Whom . asked Beaton, with a terrible glance. 

“The Countess of Ashkirk and her daughter,- the Lady Jane 
Seton,” said Redhall, with a sinking heart, v 

“ Margaret of Ashkirk ?” said the cardinal, with a look of 
blank astonishment, “the widoAv of the good Earl John? Be- 
ware thee, my lord, lest zeal outrun discretion. Her husband 
was a stout knight, and true to Scotland.” 

“As I tell your eminence that his widow is an ill-woman 
and false ! Her son, the outlawed earl, hath again re-entered 
Scotland by the Middle Marches.” ' 

“ Thou dost not say so ?” 

“ Sure as I live and breathe.” . 

“ On what errand ?” 

“ Can you ask ?” said Redhall, with a smile ; “ treason, civil 
war, and the destruction of the Hamiltons, no doubt. And 
with the knowledge that he is an outlawed traitor, the countess 
hath reset him.” 

“Natural enough, he is the poor woman’s son.” 

“ But the master of the ordnance hath likewise done so.” 

“Natural enough, too, for he is said to love the earl’s sister.” 

“Your eminence is strangely cool in this matter,” said Red- 
hall, grinding his teeth; “but you know not all that common 
rumour sayeth.” 

“ Ah ! what the devil says it now ?” 

“ That the young queen is dying,” replied the advocate, 
drawing near, sinking his voice impressively, and presuming 
even to grasp his arm ; “ sorcery is at work ; every man who 
looks upon her reads death in her face, and the hopes of Henry 
that James may yet marry his daughter are rising again.” 

“ Hah !” There was a brief pause. 

“ And what wouldst thou have ?” asked Beaton. 

“ Permission to seize and commit to sure ward the Countess 
of Ashkirk and her daughter — a measure demanded by the 
safety of the nation.” 

Beaton shook his head. 

“ Rumour is busy, and avers that the earl is concealed 
within the ports of Edinburgh,” continued the wily advocate, 
who, for his own ends, did not choose to say ^vhere ; “ my spies 
inform me that he has been heard to boast of being, ere long, 
at Stirling bridge, with an army of English borderers, for he 
hath made a vow to sup ” 


104 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ Where ?” 

“ In thy tower of Creich.” 

The dark eyes of Beaton flashed fire ; for in the tower of 
Oreicli, rumour (which in those days supplied, somewhat indif- 
ferently, however, the place of the public press) asserted that 
the cardinal kept quite a seraglio. It touched him in the 
quick. 

“ The earl said so — ha !” he muttered, opening his portfolio ; 
“indeed — urn — um — and where dost thou wish the countess 
committed to ward ?” 

“ Your eminence’s castle of St. Andrew is a sure place.” 

“ I send none there but heretics ; the tower of Inchkeith is a 
stronger fortlet.” 

“ The Knight of Barncleugh is captain there — a Hamilton 
too.” 

“ Very suitable,” continued the cardinal, writing on a slip of 
paper a warrant to arrest and imprison, ‘during the king’s 
pleasure, Margaret countess dowager, and the lady Jane, 
daughter of the umquhile John earl of Ashkirk, together with 
Archibald Seton, sometyme designated of Ashkirk, but now 
under sentence of forfeiture.’ “ Send the Albany herald to the 
countess, and let him take some fifteen pikes of my guard ; one 
of Sir Robert Barton’s boats will convey the ladies to the 
Inch. Of late, James has shown over much favour to this 
family, whose besetting sin has been their leaguing with Eng- 
land ; and I hope that, ere long,” continued Beaton, thinking 
of the tower of Creich, “ this troublesome young lord will pay 
the penalty of his insolence to me and his crimes against the 
state ” 

“My lord the Bishop of Limoges,” announced the young 
Lord Lindesay, the cardinal’s favourite page, ushering in that 
reverend prelate. 

“ Your eminence will not omit to send the requisite troops 
and cannon towards Douglasdale to-morrow, for Ashkirk may 
be there,” said the lord advocate, rising. 

“Before vespers. Sir Roland Vipont shall hear from me,” 
replied Beaton, as Redhall sank on one knee, kissed the ruby 
ring on his finger, and hurried away with a hasty step and a 
beating heart. 


THE KING 8 ADVOCATE. 


10 « 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE NOON OF LOVE. 

He looked upon her, and her humid g-aze 

Was at his look dropped instant on the e^round: 

But o’er her cheek of beauty rushed a blaze, 

Her bosom heaved within its silken bound — 

And though her voice is trembling as 1 sigh, 

Love triumphs in her smile and fond delicious eye. 

Croly’s Angel of the World. 

The sun was in the west, and threw the long shadow of th** 
Netherbow so far down the vista of the Canongate that it al- 
most reached to the Girth-cross of the Holy Rood. Save 
when the summer wind made strange sounds among the peaked 
roofs and enormous chimneys of the narrow closes, the streets 
were still and quiet. A hoof rang occasionally, just as if to 
remind one that they were recently paved for the first time ; or 
the distant cries were heard of those who sold curds and milk 
at the cross, or cockles and wilks at the Tron, as we may learn 
from William Dunbar’s poem in the year 1500. 

The countess and her family had just adjourned from the 
dining-hall to that tapestried chamber in which we had the 
honour of first introducing them to the reader. With no fore- 
boding of the mischief that was then brewing against them at 
that moment in the little turret-room of the cardinal’s mansion, 
the good old lady Margaret and all around her were very 
happy. 

Roland instinctively drew to the side of Jane, who approached 
her embroidery frame, for ladies were never idle in those indus- 
trious days ; Earl Arcliibald seated himself by the side of Sybil, 
where he could very well have spared the additional company 
of her companions, Marion and Alison, who seated themselves 
near, to hear her perform on the virginals; and the countess 
assumed her accustomed and well-cushioned bench, in the sunny 
corner of a window, where the shadows of the thick basket 
grating were thrown upon her face. Drawing her spinning- 
wheel towards her with one hand, she made a motion with the 
othei' to Father St. J^ernard to sit near ; for the confessor had 
that day been invited to dinner the moment his oration con- 
cluded. 


106 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ I pray heaven I may not hear some eviJ tidings,” said the 
countess, “ for the wind is so high.” 

“ Nay, fear not, madam, for this is Friday,” replied the old 
priest, “ and the festival of queen Ellen to boot.” 

“And yet I remind me, father, that in the days of king 
James IV., I heard the wind soughing just so, and in two hours 
thereafter news came frae the west countrie that my kinsman. 
Sir John Colquhoun of Luss, who was lord chamberlain and 
ambassador to England in 1487, was killed at the siege of Dun- 
barton, by a ball from a culverin.” 

“In 1489— yea, madam, I mind that leaguer well, as if 
’twere yesterday.” 

“ Eight and forty years ago,” said the countess. “St. Mary! 

1 was but a wee tot at my mother’s knee in the auld tower of 
Kilspindie then I” 

“ Udsdagger !” whispered the earl to Sybil, “ the old lady 
my mother is full tilt again at her musty recollections of James 
IV.” 

“ She will soon dose poor Father St. Bernard with her salves, 
her charms against witchcraft, and prosy reminiscences of Flod- 
den and Queen Margaret.” 

“And he will reply with scriptural texts and astounding 
miracles. On my honour, they are a pair of the most verita- 
ble prosers between the tower of Creich and the tower of 
Babel . 

“ Hush 1 to mention that tower of Creich in the cardinal’s 
hearing makes one his enemy for life.” 

“ Fiend take the cardinal and his red hat to boot !” whis- 
pered the earl, “ for in England I have learned to laugh both 
at red legs and shaven crowns. But now, my own fair cousin, 
sing me, I pray, the old song of Duke Albany’s days, that song 
my father loved so well. In Holyrood it might be treason to 
sing of a French minion’s fall, but none are here save friends ; 
and oh, my dear Sybil, thou knowest not how blythe I am to 
hear thy soft low voice again. Do not refuse me,” he added, 
seeing that she was about to object ; “ for in a day or two I 
go to exile again, and we may meet no more.” 

The young noble gallantly kissed a handful of Sybil’s long 
dark hair ; and in the desire to please her handsome' lover, she 
at once commenced one of those old songs, to which something 
of a melancholy interest will ever cling, when we consider that 
they cheered or soothed our Scottish sires three hundred years 
ago — 


HIE king’s advocate. 


107 


** Gml send that the duke had byded in France, 

And the Sieiir de la Beaute had never come hame, 

Vith his tall men-at-arms, by banner and lance. 

The Douglas, the Hume, and the Setou to tame.”* 

The voice ot Sybil was worthy of her name ; it was bewitch* 
iiigly soft and low and sweet ; but the sharp, wiry, and some- 
what unmusical accompaniment of the virginal, rather injured 
than improved the effect of her performance, which was admi- 
rable ; for the frank girl was at no pains to conceal the amiable 
wisli to please her kinsman and lover. Seated very erectly 
upon a high-backed chair, her white hands tinkled over the 
keys of this old-fashioned instrument, which, perhaps, obtained 
its name from being played upon almost solely by young ladies. 
Though externally not unlike our modern pianoforte, the vir- 
ginal was internally more like the spinet of the succeeding 
age, which formed, in fact, the link between the two. 

That on which Sybil played had been presented to Jane, 
Setoii by Anne de la Tour, the late Duchess of Albany. The 
case was of cedar, covered with blue Genoese velvet, and 
clasped by four large gilded locks finely engraven with the arms 
^>f Scotland and France. The whole of the front was magnifi- 
cently enamelled, and had forty keys provided with jacks and 
quills, twenty being of ebony tipped with silver, and twenty of 
ivory tipped with gold, to mark the semitones. Supported by 
two dragons of oak, it was only five feet long by twenty inches 
deep ; but as there were but few virginals in Scotland, its splen- 
dour formed one of the topics of the day ; and those evil minds 
were not wanting who affirmed that it was merely a box of 
devils who played at the command of the black page. 

Thus, while singing and soft glances were the entertainment 
m one corner of that tall tapestiied room, miracles and omens 
in another, a quiet little flirtation was proceeding in a third, 
where Lady Jane was sitting, to all appearance very intent 
upon her embroidery, while her lover leant over the back of 
her chair, conversing in low tones, looking kisses and all man- 
ner of soft things, and contriving to say a good many too, under 
cover of Sybil’s musical performance, notwithstanding the pre- 
sence of Father St. Bernard, whose apostolical aspect was suffi- 
ciently imposing. 

“ And so, my gentle Jeanie, thou art still bent on visiting 
this convent of Sienna to night ?” 

* See Vkdderburne’s Oomplainte of Scotlande^ printed at St. Andrew’% 
jk.D. 1649. 


108 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


Have I not told you ten times that I have promised this 
book as a birthday gift to the reverend mother ever since the 
martyrdom of St. Victor — more than a month ago,” said Jane, 
reckoning the time on her pretty fingers ; “ and she has never 
yet received it. By the by, sir — of all the world, I think thou 
oughtest to accompany me to-night.” 

“ Impossible, my own sweetheart.” 

“ What would you say if I were to be carried off?” 

“ Carried oft‘! Bah ! I should like to see any one carry you 
off.” 

“ It would be very unpleasant,” said Jane, shrugging her 
shoulders ; “ and within a month of our marriage, too.” 

“ Adorable Jane !” 

“ Hush ! Father St. Bernard — you forget.” 

“ You know well how gladly I would go ; but as I have said, 
both the captain and lieutenant of the king’s guard have sent 
to say, they will do themselves the pleasure of supping with 
me to-night, and hospitality requires that I should not decline, 
for we are three hon camarados^ and have made a compact to 
dine and sup with each other alternately whenever our cash 
was low.” 

“ Then the cash of these wild gallants is gone ?” 

“ Sunk to the lowest ebb, Jane. I met them this morning, 
swearing like Turks, for they had lost all they possessed, even 
to their rings, at the French ambassador’s. With the earl and 
his enormous Tizona, and these tall trenchermen, who are 
always lounging about the kitchen-fire and stable-yard, none 
will dare to molest you to-night.” 

“ Be not too certain. Oh, I have so many lovers, that I dare 
scarcely look from under my hood, lest I add one to the num- 
ber. Abduction is not so uncommon, surely. Did not king 
James carry off the lady of Lochlevin on her bridal night ? 
Is not the Knight of Casche now a prisoner in the castle for 
carrying off the wife of Sir David Scott, whom he slew in the 
kirk of Strathmiglo ? And ’tis only six days since Kincaid of 
Coates forcibly abducted the poor wife of master Quentin Sine 
bard, when she was cheapening her new hood at the Tron— 
yea, in the High-street, and at noon-day.” 

“ Tush ! a pitiful clerk of the chancery,” said Roland, play 
ing with her curls. “Believe me, my little ladykin, that none wil 
dare meddle with thee who see the livery of thy followers, and 
remember thou art the aflianced bride of Sir Roland Vipont. 
So in vain, cunning fairy, thou wouldest frighten me from per 


THE king’s advocate. 


109 


forming what friendship and hospitality require. But -w hat is 
this book, for which madam the prioress of St. Katherine is so 
anxious ?” 

“ See, it is The Lyf of St. Katherin of Siennaf said Jane, 
opening a little volume of Wynkyn de Worde’s, the velvet 
cover of which she had embroidered beautifully with gold upon 
crimson. “ Thou canst read this black letter, of course ?” 

“ Why, thanks to fortune and my good friend the father 
here, I learned the Grace Bake and Prymar^ at the principal 
grammar school of this good burgh, when it was first opened 
by provost Logan of Coatfield.” 

“In the year of grace 1519,” said the countess, “just six 
years after the death of the good king James, whose munifi- 
cence founded it — woe’s me !” 

“ And why doth this prioress not embroider her own books ? 
How, i’ the devil’s name, do they spend the long dull day in 
yonder convent ; for I vow ’tis a fortress all walled round like 
the city of Lisle — and I suppose the fair sisters are never be- 
yond it.” 

“ Save when sickness or sorrow, want or misery, call them 
into the world ; for they are of inestimable service to the poor. 
Ah ! had you seen them in time of the plague. The prioress 
Josina — thou rememberest the beautiful Josina Henrison, who 
with me was a damoiselle of honour to madam the Duchess 
Anne of Albany ? Ah ! she is a very angel of goodness. 
Now, do not look in that way, as if you were just about to 
laugh at me !” 

“ Who — 1 ? Mass ! I would almost have fallen sick on 
purpose, to have had such a nurse as the pretty Josina — had I 
not ” 

“ Whfit, sir ?” , 

“ Loved thee, and consequently been sure of another.” 

“’Tis well you say so,” replied Jane, playfully, pinching his 
ear. “ Ah ! my mother is watching us 1” 

“God bless ye, bairns!” said the old countess kindly and 
fondly ; “ for ye were born under the same star, ilk being des- 
tined for the other.’’ 

“ Pax Domini sit semper vohiscumf said Father St. Bernard, 
with closed eyes, and waving his right hand towards them. 

“ Plague take thy Latin,” muttered the earl. 

“ Which meaneth, the peace of the Lord be about you,” con- 
tinued the priest. 

“ 1 never tried Latin but once, good father, and then it was 


110 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


to curse roundly when my Scottish failed — in nomint patris et 
fillip and so forth.” 

“ And when was this, my son ?” 

“Retreating up Yarrow-braes from Cessford’s spearmen, with 
two bullets and three arrows sticking in my body.” 

The old priest crossed himself, aud turned up his eyes ; but 
those of the countess kindled as her son spoke, and some fiery 
remark was hovering on her lips, when her bower-woman, 
a demure looking abigail, clad in solemn black tafiety, raised 
the arras, glided in on tiptoe, and whispered something in her 
ear. 

Lady Ashkirk turned very pale. 

“ Mother dear,” said Lady Jane, tenderly ; “ what has hap- 
pened ?” 

“That hen hath crowed again, as Janet tells me.” 

“ Hen — what hen ?” said the earl. 

“An ill-omened hen in the poultry -yard, whilk hath now 
crown thrice since you came among us. Oh! my doo Archi- 
bald 1 my doo Archibald 1 — it’s a sad boding of evil, whilk the 
Mother o’ God avert.” 

“ Amen !” said the old priest, “ pax domini ” 

“ Friend Roland,” said the earl, with a smile, “ did you ever 
know any one who dwelt in such an atmosphere of omens and 
predictions, salves and recipes, as the good lady my mother ? 
’Tis very perplexing, to say the least of it.” 

“ Hush, lord earl!” said the countess with some asperity*, 
“ every bairn kens that the crowing of a hen bodeth evil, and 
that no house can thrive Avhere the hens are addicted to sic an 
ungodly and unnatural amusement. Harkee, Janet, let its 
neck be drawn, and bestow it as an almous on the first Fran- 
ciscan who comes hither wi’ his begging box.” 

This episode was rather “ a damper” to the ladies ; but 
Roland endeavoured to divert them, by engaging and vanquish- 
ing them all successively at the old French military game of 
2 msse dix^ which was played with three dice, at which (as we 
learn from the Complete Gamester^ 1680) “ the castor throws 
continually till he hath thrown doublets under ten, and then he 
is out^ and loseth, or doublets above ten, and then he passetK 
and wins.” At this simple game fortune favoured Roland, 
and he swept oft* the entire passbank, which was composed of 
little bons-bons of honey and Hour, for sugar was then growing 
in the mist of futurity — at least, it was unknown in Scotland. 
The time stole swiftly on ; at last the ringing of vespers warned 


THJ5 KING S ADVOCATE. 


in 


him that he must retire, as his friends, who had so annoyingly 
invited themselves, would be awaiting him. 

“ Say a prayer for me at St. Katherine’s to-night, my dear 
Jane,” said Roland, as he buckled on his rapier. “ I fear me I 
am a sad rogue, and often omit to pray for myself in these 
stirring times, when- one’s armour is so rarely off ; and of all 
things, forget not to give my very best commendations to the 
fair Josina.” 

“ Sirrah ! thou wantest thine other ear well pinched.” 

“ And you return ?” 

“ To-morrow, at noon.” 

“ Ah — the devil ! and shall I not see thee till then ?” said 
Roland, scared at the prospect of an eighteen hours’ separation. 

“ Thou wilt not die of despair in that time, surely ?” replied 
Jane, archly. 

“ Then, to-morrow, at noon, I will be at the convent gate, or 
under the old lime trees that border its pathway, near the loch ; 
and so till then, my sweet flower, farewell,” 

After paying his adieux to all with that grave formality 
which French intercourse had impressed upon the manners of 
the Scottish noblesse, he retired ; whereupon the messieurs Bir- 
rel and Dobbie ordered in the additional stoup of Flemish wine, 
as we have related in the thirteenth chapter of this history. 


CHAPTER XVI. 
vipont’s household. 

“ At length they to the house retreated, 

And round the supper soon were seated , 

When the time quickly passed away, 

And gay good humour closed the day.” 

Dr. Syntax, Canto XIV 

Having lost all their money at play with the French and Spa- 
niards, Roland’s two comrades, the captain of the arquebusiers, 
and Leslie, his lieutenant, had both invited themselves to sup 
with him on that evening, according (as he has already stated) 
.0 an arrangement the three friends had made — that he whose 
exchequer was low should dine or sup with the others. But 
now it chanced that Roland’s purse was drained too; and 


JANE seton; or, 


lis 

tliougjli hospitality and the manners of the time forbade the 
least wvasion of this visit, or rather visitation, old Lintstock had 
fully participated in the consternation it occasioned his master. 
Lintstock, however, with the coolness of an old soldier, who 
was well used to foraging, begged Sir Roland to keep his mind 
at ease, as he would provide an adequate supper by the hour 
of the cavaliers’ arrival. 

Roland knew not what to make of this ; but he was aware 
of the fertility of his valet’s resources, and that the cunning old 
vender of projectiles had made love to an inn (as he said), or 
rather an innkeeper’s widow, whom he had been intending to 
espouse for the last five years ; thus he doubted not Lintstock 
would provide the viands, if heaven did not. 

Roland lodged with the widow of one of the king’s falconers ; 
but the pittance he received per month from the exchequer (for 
although styled master of the ordnance, he was in reality only 
c.aptain of a few hundred cannoneers, who were scattered 
throughout the royal castles), afforded little more than what sol- 
diers usually term comforts — i. e., plain bed, board, and quar- 
ters. He was never so much in camp or garrison as to lose 
the polish of the courtier or relish for the society of ladies. 
The “rough and round” of a soldier’s life never discomposed 
him ; he wore his heavy armour as easily as Jane Seton did her 
gloves of Blois ; and his love for her threw a poetry around 
ali that plainness and positive discomfort which generally sur- 
rounded him, but of which she was totally ignorant. Soldier- 
ing had, of course, considerably sharpened his faculties; but 
Roland never forgot the gentle bearing of the perfect cavalier; 
and though perhaps inferior in head to such a man as Sir Adam 
Otterburn, he was immensely his superior in heart and straight- 
forwardness of purpose, 

Roland’s windows overlooked the Abbey Close, and the set- 
ting sun shone partly through them. They were strongly 
grated, and lighted a room which was wainscotted with Scot- 
tish fir, and furnished with six hardwood chairs and a table of 
oak. An almerie or corner cupboard, a boxed bed within a 
recess, a suit of bright armour, and a quantity of other harness 
for horse and man, with various weapons, hung upon pegs ; a 
few books of old romances, and a French Manuel de V Ar- 
tilleur^ made up its furniture. 

“ What the devil shall I do, if Lintstock has failed ?” thought 
Roland, as he entered his domicile. “ Hallo, old Ironhead, how 
goeth the su[)per ?” (People supped then at seven o’clock) 


THE king’s advocate. 


113 


“ Right weel, Sir Roland, as ye may see for you’sel,” replied 
the old tellow, over whose broad visage and solitary eye there 
spread a brilliant smile of self-satisfaction. 

A snow-white cloth covered the old oak-table; a knife, a 
drinking-horn, and platter were laid for each of the friends ; a 
silver salt-cellar occupied the centre ; a plate, with four roasted 
ducks, stood on one side thereof, a tart and stewed pigeons 
on the other, with a joint of veal daintily roasted ; while an eel- 
pie and two large manchets of white flour, with other et cetera, 
appeared on the side buffet, with a row of wine-flasks in fair 
battaglia, side by side, telling by theii gaudy badges that they 
were from France, and such wine as was then sold by the 
retailers at sixpence Scots (one halfpenny sterling) the pint, 
under penalty of having the head of the cask beaten out, as an 
edict of the provost and baillies in 1520 remains to show. 

“ By Jove, thou art the very fiend himself!” said Roland, lost 
in astonishment at the sight of all these good things; “how 
else couldst thou get these gallant bottles of Rochelle and Bor- 
deaux from that old curmudgeon of the Cross and Oillstoup — 
for I see they bear his mark. On my honour, I am mightily 
tickled by thine ingenuity !” 

“ I said we would pay ” 

“ Wer 

“ That is, your worship would pay them at eventide, the 
morn.” 

“ Why, Lintstock, I have not had a cross for these three 
days.” 

“But there is a rumour about the palace,” said Lintstock, 
closing his remaining eye, “ that we march by daylight, the 
morn, for Douglasdale or thereawa ; and sae the auld screw of 
an hosteller may whistle on his thumb for the money till we 
come back again.” 

“ March ! oh, impossible — for I have not heard a word of it ; 
and how then shouldest thou ? I warrant me the old cullion 
grumbled.” 

“ Like a boar in a high wind. ‘ Thou false knave and 
loon,’ said I, with the hand on my dirk, just so ; ‘ these twelve 
flasks are for the captain, my master.’ ‘He owes me thirty 
crowns and mair,’ replied the dour carle. ‘ If he owed thee 
ten times as muckle, ’tis all right, for he will pay thee some 
day, and nobly too ; so hand me over the flasks, or I will si 
the house on fire, and flay thee like St. Bartholomew !’ ” 

“ But the veal and the ducks ?” 

8 


114 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ I fished for one, and borrowed the other —but here come 
our gentlemen.” 

Roland gave Lintstock one of the flasks to rejoice over, and 
laughed. He knew well what the old forager meant, for the 
royal poultry-yard was close by, and Lintstock, with a piece of 
meat tied to a string, as a lure for King J araes’s full-fed ducks, 
had many a time and oft towed them in at the back-windows, 
with outspread wings ; and more than one dozen of fowls had 
disappeared thus, to the astonishment of the royal poulterer. 

“ But the pigeons ?” 

“ I shot with my arblast at Redhall’s dovecot.” 

“ And the eels ?” 

“ I borrowed them frae the abbot’s eel-arks, at the Canon* 
mills loch.” 

“ Mass ! thou’st had a busy day on’t. Mever mind ; when I 
have the mains of Ashkirk with — tush, I will repay all these 
debts and borrowings with usury.” 

With a towel under his arm, the old gunner drew himself 
up like a post, as the two cavaliers entered, attired in vel- 
vets richly laced and slashed, and looking very gay and 
smiling. 

“ Welcome, Sir John Forrester ! — and thou too, my gay Les- 
lie ! Ah ! where didst get that scratch on thy nose ?” 

“ From the fan of little Sybil Douglas, at the queen’s masque 
yesterday.” 

“ The little firefly ! Seats, gentlemen, seats ! By my faith, 
you are in ill-luck. ’Tis quite a fast day, with me, this, and 
you will sup like starveling Franciscans.” 

“ Fast !” said tall Forrester, as he threw aside his cloak and 
plume : “ by St. Roque ! if this is a fast day, what are thy festivals « 
But who is thy provant master — thy fourrier de campemmt? 

“ My servitor — my trusty Lintstock.” 

“ Mass ! would that I had such a valet as thou, and such 
noble credit with my wine-merchant. Thou seest, Leslie, what 
it is to be the king’s favourite. Verily, Sir Roland Vipont 
carries a coronet on the point of his sword. Rogue ! thou 
must pray well to have all these good things.” 

“Nay, nay,” said young Leslie, with a burst of reckless 
laughter, “ he pays old father St. Bernard to do all that for 
him.” 

“ Hast heard the news ?” 

“ Nay, what news. Sir John ?” 

** Thou art to boune thee for the borders j ^for the king swore 


THE king’s advocate. 


116 


in my hearing he would find other work for thy sword than 
killing his most favourite courtiers.” 

“ These rascally Hamiltons ? But Kincavil is not dead, I 
hope ?” 

“ Far from it,” said Leslie ; “ but the apothegar, from whom 
I was purchasing some perfumes for little Sybil Douglas, 
averred to me, that he is in a perilous bad way.” 

“ Wlien did these knaves of leeches ever aver a man was 
otherwise ?” said Roland, seating himself. “ To table, gentle- 
men, and pray do justice to the industry of my fourrier, and 
the comforts of my poor den, or hermitage, which you will ; 
but prayer or no prayer, take care the cardinal heareth not of 
your jesting, Leslie — about prayers, I mean.” 

“ The cardinal, that scarlet bugbear of the heretics ! Oh, I 
don’t fear the cardinal ; he is the steadfast friend and true of 
my kinsman Norman, the Master of Rothes.” 

“ A slice of this veal, Leslie ?” 

“ Nay, I thank you ; this roasted duck is quite admirable.” 

“ ’Tis from my estates in the country somewhere.” 

“ Rochelle — or Bordeaux ?” 

“ Thank you — what news are abroad ?” 

“ Nothing,” said Forrester, “ but of the queen having fainted 
twice to-day — poor little woman — to the consternation of 
Madame de Montreuil, De Brissac, the king, and all his court.” 

“ How pure this Bordeaux is — spiced, too !” said Vipont. 
“ His eminence, the cardinal (whom God long preserve !) ” 

“Save us, friend Roland!” said Leslie: “thou art turnirg 
very religious.” 

“ Is about to take such measures as shall assuredly extermi- 
nate the followers of those heretics, Resby, the Englishman, 
and the abbot of Fearn. Master Buchanan is now in the oub- 
liette of St. Andrews, where he will likely pay dearly for his 
satire Franciscanusy 

“His eminence should confine himself to the pretty little 
amusements aftbrded by his country-house at Creich,” said For- 
rester. 

“ Didst thou see that poor devil drowned to-day ?” 

“Who, Leslie?” 

“He whom the king’s advocate discovered burying a cat alive.” 

“ Nay, I was hawking with the king on the Figgatemuir — the 
more fool I ! Lintstock, thou knave !” cried Vipont to that 
functionary — who stood erect as a pike behind his chair — 
“uncork me half^-dozen of these flasks. Drain, gentlemen, 


no 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


and replenish again ; wine is a specific for care — worth a thou- 
sand homilies !” 

“Lucky dog!” said Forrester; “thou drinkest out of horns 
hooped with silver, while I, who am lord of Corstorphine and 
Uchtertyre, must content me with plain beech luggies.” 

“ Lintstock found them during our last raid into Westmore- 
land. Nevertheless, Sir John, thank heaven that you were not, 
like me, born with a most portentous wooden spoon in your 
mouth. I was an unlucky brat, and cried, it seems, like a 
pagan at my baptism ; a bad omen, as the Lady Ashkirk told 
me. Fill again ; but excuse me — my wound, you know.” 

“ Ah 1 that dainty dagger-thrust ; but it is healing fast ?” 

“ By the total absence of an apothegar — yes. Hah ! yon- 
der is a gay dame, followed by an esquire with the argent and 
gules in his bonnet, crossing the Abbey Close. My faith 1 ’tis 
Lady Anne of Arran, whom rumour says thou lovest, Leslie.” 

“ How 1 that muirland-meg, Anne Hamilton ? Ah ! what a 
taste I must have !” replied Leslie. 

“ Nay, thou wrongest him, Vipont,” said Sir John of Corstor- 
phine ; “ ’tis Marion Logan of Kestalrig, who hath thy heart ; 
is it not, lieutenant of mine ?” 

Leslie laughed, and coloured as he replied — 

“ ’Tis Marion whom we see, and not the Lord Arran’s daugh- 
ter.” The three gallants hastened to the window, as a lady 
holding up her brocaded skirt in that fashion which the witty 
Knight of the Mount reprehended in his satires, passed into a 
door of the palace. 

“ Hast thou seen what Lindesay’s new poem says of yonder 
fashion of skirt-bearing ?” said Forrester : — 

“ I trow St. Bernard, nor St. Blaise, 

Caused never man bear up their claise ; 

Nor Peter, Paul, nor St. Androw, 

Bore up their tails like these, I trow ; 

But I laugh most to see a nun 
Cause bear her tail ” 


“ The rest is vile ribaldry,” said Vipont. 

“And by St. Bernard, and St. Blaise to boot. Sir David 
deserves to be run through the body for so severely satirizing 
the ladies of Holyrood. Ha ! who cometh next ? — the car- 
dinal !” 

As he spoke, Beaton, with a cavalcade of horsemen, passed 
through the Abb(‘,y Close on an evening ride. 

“ He sits on his horse like a true cavalier,” said Vipont, 


THE kino’s ADVOCaFK. 


117 


-«i'‘a'’a*vnng a pace, as he observed the cardinal scrurinizing 
-.a windows. 

‘ Bln- observe the Abbot of Kinloss ; he always rides faster 
than his horse, and hangs on the bridle like a drowning 
man.” 

“ llis rcan nag is covered with foam, while those of the car- 
dinal and his gentlemen are fresh as when they left their 
stalls.” 

“ The daughter of his eminence and the young Lord Lindesay 
are riding together,” said Vipont ; “ a love case that, I think.” 

Amid jesting and laughing — for their light hearts and the 
somewhat reckless manners of the time, when the sword was 
rarely out of men’s hands, imparted an almost boisterous 
gaiety to the supper — the evening closed in, cloudy and grey ; 
darkness approached, and candles were lighted. The clock 
struck half-past eight ; but there were still four flasks uncorked, 
when Lintstock entered, with a portentous expression in his 
remaining eye, and laid before his master a square pacquet, 
tied with blue ribands, which, like the edicts of council, were 
oflScially sealed with green wax. 

“ The devil ! now what doth this portend ?” muttered his 
friends. 

“ If the king knows that I have harboured a rebel lord !” 
thought Roland, breathlessly, “ my commission would be worth 
about as much as my head. By the faith of Vipont ! ’tis in 
the name of the king, and countersigned by the cardinal too I” 

“ To our trusty friend. Sir Roland Vipont, of that Ilk. 

“James Rex. 

“ Right trusty friend, we greet you well and heartillie. 

“ It is our royal will and pleasure, that with one hundred 
arquebussiers of our guard, under Louis Leslie of Balquhan, 
and two brass culverins, with their powder, shot, and cannoneers 
conform, you do march to-morrow at daybreak unto Douglas- 
dale, for the capture, dead or alive, of Archibald Seton, some- 
time Earl of Archkirk, our rebel and traitor, who is rumoured 
to be resett in that district ; where, without fail, you will give 
all to fire and sword, be it castle, or be it cottage, wherein the 
said lord findeth shelter ; for which you have this our warrant. 
Hoping that you wiT do your devoire truly and valiantly, 


ns 


JANE 8ET0N *, OR, 


according to the custom observit of auld, we commit j^ou to 
the protection of God. 

David, 

“ Cardinal^ Sancti Andrea, Commendator de ArbroaCh^ 
Chancellor of Scotland. 

• From our Palace of Holyrood, 

the 20th day of May, 1537.” 

“ There, now, was not rumour right for once ?” said For- 
rester. 

“ Still the same enmity to my unfortunate friend !” said 
Roland, whose face became pale, and whose teeth were clenched 
with anger. 

“ So we are to search for Lord Ashkirk among the Douglass- 
es,” laughed Leslie ; “ a right perilous expedition. Take thy 
tall valet with thee, Vipont. ’Fore heaven ! that fellow, with 
his prodigious sword, were worth a troop of lances on such a 
service.” 

Roland glanced keenly at the speaker. Had he penetrated 
the earl’s disguise ? But there was nothing to be read but pure 
honesty and candour in Leslie’s handsome features. He sus- 
pected not that the dictators of the order he had just received, 
knew well that the earl was much nearer than Douglasdale. 

“ Ha ! do you not hear something ?” said Roland, rising up 
and listening. 

“ The cry of a woman, as I live !” replied Leslie ; “ shrill and 
deathly, too, as of one in sore distress ; and there now is the 
patter of pistolettes !” 

“ Look out, Lintstock — thy one eye is worth a dozen — at the 
back window — what seest thou ?” 

“ ’Torches moving about on St. John’s Hill, the gleam of 
steel, and I hear the cries of a woman ; eh, sirs, but she scraighs 
dreichly and eerilie !” was the reply of Lintstock, as he snatched 
up a partisan. 

“ To your swords, and away, gentlemen !” cried Roland, 
unhooking his rapier from the wall ; “ ’tis a woman in distress ! 
Meanwhile, Lintstock, away thou to the castle, seek my fire- 
master and his matrosses, and desire that two pieces of cannon 
and sixteen men in their armour, with horses and all in fighting 
order, be before the palace by daybreak to-morrow ; look well 
to my own horses and new coat of mail too. And now, sirs, 
let us go, in God’s name 1” and with their mantles rolled round 


THE king’s advocate. 


119 


their left arms, and swords unsheathed, they sprang down stairs 
and dashed up the south back of the Canongate, towards the 
base of St. John’s Hill. 

They saw no one, the place was desolate, and perfectly silent. 

The moon, which had been partially obscured, shone forth 
for a moment, and revealed a pool of blood on the dusty road 
which skirted the base of the hill. Near it lay a lady’s glove, 
and a man’s bonnet of coarse blue cloth, but no other traces of 
a fray. 

On the bonnet was a pewter badge. 

“ ’Tis the cognisance of Redhall,” said Roland, tossing the 
bonnet away, and placing the glove in his belt. 

After frequently hallooing, and searching long and fruitlessly, 
the three friends again sought St. Ann’s Yard, but not to finish 
the remaining flasks; for Roland and Leslie had to prepare 
for their march by daybreak on the morrow, and now the hour 
was late. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A LORD ADVOCATE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 


“ Camillo. Thou execrable man, beware ! — 

“ Cenci. Of thee ? 

Nay this is idle : — We should know each other. 
As to my character for what men call crime, 
Seeing I please my senses as I list, 

And vindicate that right with force of guile. 

It is a public matter, and I care not 
If I discuss it with you.” 

The Cenci, 


The young earl and Lady Sybil were loath to part, for they 
had met but recently ; and after a long and painful separation 
— painful by its danger and uncertainty — and full of themselves 
and their plans for the future, the hours stole swiftly past them. 
Thus the earl delayed so long in accompanying his impatient 
sister, that the dusk had almost set in before they left the house, 
oil their promised visit to her friend at St. Katherine’s, where 
Jane proposed remaining until the noor^of the next day. 

The night was cloudy, and the streets were dark and misty, 
so that two men, who emerged half tipsy from the 6Vos-? and 
Oillstoup, following them softly and warily, and at the gate of 


120 JANE seton; or, 

Redhall’s house were joined by five others, were quite unob 
served. 

The earl was still disguised and liveried as Vipont’s valet, 
lie wore a cuirass below his doublet, and carried the conspicu- 
ous long rapier over his shoulder. Jane was muffled in a close 
hood, so as to be completely unknown to the few persons who 
were abroad in the dusk ; and thus with security she accom- 
panied him, and leant upon his arm. Two servants of their 
own name, from the earl’s barony in Forfarshire, marched 
before them with lighted links. Both these men were tall, 
athletic, and well armed, with jacks and caps of iron, swords, 
daggers, and hacques, or small hand guns, about three-quarters 
of a yard long. In those dangerous times every trilling visit 
and aft'air had quite the aspect of a conspiracy. 

The brother and sister were chatting merrily, and each was 
speaking of the person whose image and interest lay nearest 
their hearts; thus Jane spoke of Roland, his courage and sin- 
cerity, his truth and hope ; and of King James’s ingratitude in 
neglecting to reward his valour and loyal service. 

The earl spoke of his dark-eyed Sybil, and how he w'ould 
one day place his father’s coronet on her brow ; and would do 
so on the morrow, if she would but fly with him to England, 
where they might wed without that dispensation which was yet 
required in Catholic Scotland, as they were both within the 
prohibited degrees ; a dispensation which the cardinal’s hos- 
tility, he feared, would withhold for ever ; for Beaton was legate 
of Paul II^, north of the English frontier. 

Rendered wary by necessity, and from the nature of the 
times instinctively cautious, the earl looked back more than 
once to observe whether they were followed. The streets were 
almost deserted, and echoed to no other footsteps than their 
own. They descended the Canongate, which was then more 
open, and less regular as a street, than now ; and passing down 
a narrow lane between hedges, having a barnyard on one side, 
and a large “ Berne-Kilne and Kobill ” (the appurtenances of an 
ancient distillery) on the other, they found themselves in the 
solitary horseway which skirted the city on the south, and led 
straight from the Cowgate Porte to the Palace and St. Anne’s 
Yard. 

On one side the craigs heaved up their tremendous front ; on 
the other rose a lofty ridge, at the north end of which stood a 
chapel of St. John, at the south end a chapel dedicated to St. 
Leonard, the Hermit of Orleans, and midway between, the 


THE king’s advocate. 


121 


sharp ridgy roof of a large convent — St. Mary’s of Placentia — • 
cut the sky. About its walls grew a number of willows, planted 
by the fair recluses, in the spirit of that beautiful old tradition 
which tells that our Saviour had been scourged by willow rods, 
for which offence the trees had drooped or wept in sorrow ever 
after. And there the migrating crossbills built their nest, a 
bird, said by another old legend to have taken its name from 
the circumstance of having striven with its little bill to draw 
foj th the nails from the feet and hands of the dead Christ. 

A faint and pale light in the east, brought the ridge and its 
triple edifices forward in strong outline, and tlie gigantic wil- 
lows were seen waving their graceful branches mournfully in 
the rising wind. The darkness of utter obscurity veiled the 
front of the craigs, and the deep hollow of their base, then a 
Tough and savage gorge, round the edge of which lay the road 
the earl and his sister were to pursue. 

A bell rang. 

“ Oh, Archibald, let us hasten,” said Lady Jane ; “ the nuns 
are already saying the compline at St. Mary’s yonder ; see 
how the chapel is lighted up.” 

“ P'aith ! my good sister, I have dwelt so long under English 
Henry’s roof, that I have well-nigh forgotten these small items 
of our ancient faith. I have seen church lands turned into fair 
lay-baronies, and more than one stately priory become an earl’s 
fief, its chapel a dining hall, its cloisters a stable yard, its refec- 
tory a dog’s-kennel. But omit not to ask the fair Josina* to 
say one prayer for me, though I am such a reprobate pagan. 

all the furies ! it seems very droll to think that my little 
friend Josina hath become a prioress! I cannot realize it! 
She will have quite forgotten me.” 

“ Do not think so, for she still uses the missal you gave her 
before ” 

“My kinswoman Sybil came home from the convent at 
Northberwick,” said the earl, quickly; “poor Josina! — and I 
shall see her once more.” 

“ To-morrow at noon, w^hen you and Roland come for me— 
and yet perhaps it were better not.” 

“ Thou art right, sister of mine — poor Josina !” and with a 
sigh that told its own little story, the earl paused. 

“ A religious life certainly never seemed to be her vocation ; 

* Josina Henrison was prioress of the Dominicans, at the Soiennee^ 
near Edinburgh, in the time of James V. 


122 


JANE seton; or, 


and yet I pray God that she is happy. How now ?” he added, 
on hearing his followers wind up the wheels of their hacques 
by the spanners (as they were named) which were attached to 
the locks by small chains ; “ what dost thou hear, Gilzean ?” 

“ Footsteps, my lord.” 

“ The echoes of our own, perhaps ; but where ?” 

“ Behind ; to be forewarned is to be forearmed.” 

Lady Jane clung to her brother’s arm, and drew her hood 
closer over her face. They were now in a most lonely part of 
the road. Above them, about a hundred and fifty yards up the 
hill, towered the Convent of St. Mary, with its high black walls 
and waving willows ; below them, on the left, the lights of 
Holy rood were twinkling like wildfire, in the hollow far off, at 
the foot of the Craigs. The clouds were flying in masses from 
west to east, and the tremulous stars looked forth at intervals 
like red and fiery eyes. 

“ Turn, my lord !” cried Gilzean, “ for armed men are close 
behind us.” 

“ Armed ?” 

“Like oursels. ’Odslife ! I heard the clink of irongraith !” 

“ Let us halt, then. Look to your arms, and extinguish the 
links ; for, if friends, we may proceed together, if foes, we must 
drive them back. But Jane, in God’s name, girl, do not cling 
to me thus — release my sword-arm ; — tush, lassie, dost forget 
thou art half Seton, half Douglas ?” 

Over his left shoulder, the earl unsheathed the long weapon 
with which Roland, partly in frolic, had accoutred him; his 
two followers wound up their wheel-locks, stood by his side, 
and peered into the gloom behind. They counted seven dark 
shadows approaching in the starlight. 

“ I see steel bonnets and Jedwood staves,” said the earl. 

“And I, drawn whingers and bent pistolettes. Their lunts 
are alow,” replied Gilzean, meaning that their matches were 
lighted. “ Three to seven !” 

“ Tush ! Gilzean, my good man and true, what matters that ? I 
will spit the odd four, like so many mavises, on this long rapier.” 

“ Stand and surrender, or you are three dead men !” cried 
one, through the obscurity. 

“ Zounds !” said the earl, clenching his sword ; “ surely I 
should know that voice.” 

“And I, too,” added Jane, trembling excessively. 

“ ’Tis either the Laird of Redhall, or auld Horpie hinisel’ I” 
muttered Gilzean Seton. 


THE king’s advocate. 


123 


“We are right, then — I am discovered at last! and my 
Lord Advocate comes like a common messenger, the vilest of 
villains, to arrest me.” 

“ Do you yield, sirs ?” asked the same person, who was now 
within ten yards of them. 

“ Not to the assassins of Sir Thomas M‘Clelland of Bombie !” 
replied the earl, his heart animated by ferocious joy, while his 
sister’s whole form vibrated with terror. “ Keep aside, close to 
the fauld-dyke, my good sister, and leave us freely to deal with 
these rascals ; the first onset is everything !” 

Ashkirk led his sister close to the turf wall of the field which 
bordered the roadway, and cried to his followers — “Fire! and 
fire low !” 

Gilzean and his comrade levelled their hacques, the wheels 
revolved like lightning, producing fire by the friction of the 
pyrite ; the combined report of these two handguns resounded 
at once, and one man fell on the roadway with a wild cry that 
sank into a hallow groan. 

The red flashes of three pistolettes replied ; with a thousand 
reverberations, their echoes died away among the cliffs, and the 
bullets whistled harmlessly past the ears of the earl and his 
vassals. With the cri de guerre of his family, 

“ Ashkirk and Set on,” 

the gallant noble and his two devoted followers fell bravely on 
their six adversaries, with whom a close and furious contest 
ensued. 

The earl singled out the leader, and on engaging him, found 
that he had three others to deal with at the same time, and 
was thus compelled to act merely on the defensive, a perilous 
predicament with so unwieldy a weapon. He swayed it with 
both hands, according to the best rules then in use for handling 
those ponderous wall-swords, and bent low his head (which was 
protected by a tempered cabosset of proof) seeking to discover 
the faces of his adversaries, but all seemed blackness. They 
were masked. Red sparks flew in showers from their swords, 
and the sudden emission of more than one cry of pain acquainted 
the earl, that the few thrusts which he ventured to give had 
proved successful. 

“ Lord earl, yield up your weapon !” cried the clear full voice 
of Redhall. Jane, as she cowered by the wall, recognised it, 
and uttered a low cry of terror. “ Yield 1 — yield 1” 

“To thee?” said Ashkirk, with a scornful laugh. “May 
eternal execration lie upon me if I do !” 


124 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“Traitor, thou shalt rue this dearly!” replied the otUei, 
wrathfully ; “ charge me your pistolettes again,” he said to his 
followers, “ and make service surely !” 

Ashkirk replied by a tremendous back-handed blow, that 
would infallibly have cut the speaker in two ; but he sprang 
back nimbly, and by the fury of his stroke, the earl overstruck 
himself so far, that before he could recover his guard, six vigo- 
rous hands were upon him, as many weapons' gleamed darkly 
at his throat, and then, for the first time, he discovered that 
both his faithful followers were slain. Rising to his full height, 
and towering above his capturers, he endeavoured to throw 
them from him ; but his vast strength failed ; for, fearing to 
let him free, eager to avenge the wounds he had inflicted, and 
more passionately eager to serve their lord, whom (lawless and 
savage as they were) they loved better than life, and animated, 
no doubt, by the bribes which had purchased their secresy and 
services, the followers of Redhall hung upon the hands and 
throat of the furious earl like blood-hounds. 

In a moment he was hurled to the earth, and pinioned hand 
and tongue, for Nichol Birrel tore off his steel cap and forced 
over his head one of those iron gags called in Scotland a pair 
of branks. Shaped not unlike a royal crown, this ignominious 
fetter was composed of four cross hoops, which enclosed the 
head by springing from an iron ring that encircled the neck, 
and was furnished with a steel plate for entering the mouth, 
and forcibly holding down the tongue. With his strong and 
regular teeth set firm as a vice, the unfortunate noble resisted 
long this last and deadly insult, but, unhappily, Sanders Screw, 
the torturer of the High Court, was among his adversaries. 
Being well practised in his profession, this daring ruffian thrust 
his thumbs behind the ears of the earl, and thus brutally com- 
pelled him to open his mouth. The gag was immediately 
forced in, and was held there by a padlock at the back of his 
neck. 

The moment this was accomplished, four men raised him by 
the legs and arms, and bore him off towards the town. Their 
wounded comrade followed, while the sixth remained with 
Redhall. 

“ Assist me to sweep away these carrion,” said he, pointing to 
the bodies that lay on the road, with the blood yet oozing from 
their wounds ; “ in that field the corn is high, and they will 
feed the crows as well there as hanging on the gibbet at St 
Giles Grange ” 


THE king’s advocate. 


125 


The bodies of tbe two Setons were raised upon the fauld- 
dyke, but the heart of Redhall was too fiercely excited to feel 
even a shudder as he and Dobbie flung tliem far among the 
ripening grain, where they lay concealed, until found reduced 
to skeletons by the terrified reapers in the harvest ot that year, 
as an old diary of the period informs us. 

“ Now, away, for we have not a moment to lose, and this 
traitor lord and dame must byde with me ! Quick — quick 
for I hear shouts and footsteps !” 

Lady Jane, who had clung for support to the turf-wall of the 
road during this furious conflict, which just terrified her (but 
only in the same degree that a fisticuff battle might scare a 
lady of the present day, who is all unused to see the flash of 
steel), uttered shriek after shriek when her brother was beaten 
down, and she saw no less than six armed men struggling 
above him. Believing that they were busy with their poniards, 
she rushed wildly forward to interpose, to save or to die with 
him ; when suddenly she was seized by one who sheathed his 
sword, and threw his arms around her. 

“ My brother ! oh, my brother ! Who are you that have 
dared to do this, and who that dare to grasp me thus ? Cow- 
ards — cowards! I am the Lady Jane Seton ! Oh, misery! 
misery ! my brother ! my brother ! Oh, thou who wert so 
good, so kind, so brave — my mother — oh, my mother — and 
they have slain him !” 

Slie uttered a shrill cry, and covered her face with her hands 
on seeing him borne away ; she muttered to herself faintly and 
incoherently ; for though she did not swoon, she was perfectly 
passive, for horror and grief had prostrated all her faculties, and 
she hung heavily in the arms of the tall masked man, who was 
no other than Sir Adam Otterburn. 

The fury which had animated him during the conflict now 
passed away as he pressed her to his breast, where a glow of 
another kind began to kindle. Though he deemed there was 
contamination in the ruffian’s touch, he was glad to crave the 
assistance of Dobbie, as he bore her away towards the town ; 
but they had barely reached the southern or back gate of the 
Redhall Lodging (as his mansion was named), when the steps 
of men were heard rapidly approaching from the direction of 
the palace. Sunk deeply in the strong and fortified wall which 
bounded the Canongate on the south, and was overshadowed by 
a group of venerable chesnuts, this gate was very much con- 
cealed and secluded. 


126 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


It was barely closed upon the whole party, when three men 
passed with drawn swords. 

They were Sir Roland Vipont and his tw^ friends, the cap 
tain and lieutenant of the King’s Foot Guard. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE CASTLE OF INCHKEITH. 

“ Prometheus. The tyrant is but young in nower, and deems 
His palace inaccessible to sorrow. 

But bear him this defiance : I have seen 

Two hated despots hurled from the same throne, 

And in him 1 shall soon behold a third, 

Flung thence to an irreparable ruiu. 

“ Mercury. It was thy proud rebellion brought thee here, 

Else thou hadst from calamity been free.” 

Half-an-hour after the Earl and Lady Jane had set out for 
the convent of St. Katherine, old Father St. Bernard departed ; 
and after failing to convince the countess that her belief in 
omens and predictions was altogether at variance with the 
principles of their faith, (arguments which she always silenced 
by reminding him, that he was one of those who had seen the 
specti e which appeared to James IV. in St. Katherine’s aisle at 
Linlithgow,) he departed to his dwelling among the houses of 
the prebendaries at St. Giles, and bestowed his solemn and 
usual benediction — “ Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum” — on 
Janet Seton, the sister of Gilzean, and all the kneeling house 
hold, as he departed. 

The dark-haired Sybil, the fair Marion Logan, and the stately 
figure of Alison Hume, were all bent over a large embroidery 
frame, where they pretended to be working (for the old- 
fashioned industry of the countess kept all busy about her), biit 
in reality they were conversing intently op the^laje ball at the 
palace, and all their white necks and glossy ringlets shone in 
the light of the candelabrum, as they were grouped like the 
three Graces together. Reclined in an easy chair, with her 
feet on a tabourette, and her face so buried in her vast coif, 
that her nose (which was somewhat prominent) alone was visi- 
ble, the countess was spelling over the pages of “ The joyeuse 
Historie of the great Conqueror and excellent Prince, King 


THE king’s advocate. 


127 


Arthur, sometyme King of the noble realm of England, with 
the Chivalry of the Round Table.” 

It was one of those old black-letter emanations from William 
Caxton’s press, which the abbot of Westminster erected for 
him, at the Almonry, in the parish of St. Margaret’s, London. 
Her husband, Earl John, found it when storming the English 
castle of Etal, and had given it to his confessor, as a book ot 
magic; for to the unlettered warrior of the fifteenth century, 
its strange black characters seemed the very work of hell, and 
he had never touched the volume, save with his gauntlets 
on. 

However, Father St. Bernard had taught the countess that 
it was merely the romance of an old Welsh monk, and, deeply 
immersed therein, she had just reached the account of that 
dreadful battle fought by Arthur against Nero and King Lot 
of Orkney, who was so foully deceived by the wicked enchanter 
Merlin, and drawn into that strife around the castle Terrible, 
where Sir Kaye the seneschal and Sir Hervis de Revel per* 
formed such deeds as none ever achieved but knights of the 
Round Table ; and where twelve valiant kings were slain, and 
buried in Stephen’s church at Camelot. The countess, we say, 
had just reached this interesting point, and believing it all im- 
plicitly, was crossing herself at the contemplation of such a 
slaughter, when her favourite tabby, which was seated on the 
table, with its prodigious whiskers bristling, and its sleepy eyes 
winking at the wax candles, sneezed violently, which made her 
cross herself again three several times. 

A dog howled mournfully in the yard. 

The countess laid aside her book, took off her barnacles, and 
began to think. 

“ All the dogs at Linlithgow howled on the day James IV. 
was killed at Flodden !” 

The good old lady was seriously discomposed, and she was 
just feeling for an Agnus Dei, which Father St. Bernard had 
given her to keep away the nightmare, when Janet her tire- 
woman, and Sabrino the page, with his poniard unsheathed, 
rushed into the room. The former looked pale as death, and 
was almost breathless ; the visage of the latter was a ghastly 
blue ; his eyes were glaring with alarm ; he held one finger on 
his lips; and pointed downwards with another to the staircase, 
where now a sudden uproar of voices mingling with the clash 
of sw ords was heard. 

“ Oh ! madam ! madam ! my puir dear lady ! it’s a’ a’ owr«^ — 


128 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


its a’ owre noo ! They are coming ! they are coming !” cried 
Janet, with a most prolonged “Oh,” of grief. 

“ Then my four omens this day have not been for nocht !” 
said the countess, rising up to the full extent of her great stature ; 
while the three young ladies rushed to her side like startled 
doves ; “ but speak, ye foolish woman, speak ! Who are com 
ing ?” 

“ They are coming to arrest you, and we are a’ lost ! lost ! 
lost ! Oh, the hands of dule and death are spread this nicht owre 
the Setons o’ Ashkirk.” And seizing the hands of her mistress, 
the woman kissed them, and then throwing herself on her 
knees, buried her face in her scarlet curtsey, rocking her body 
to and fro, and exclaiming with that noisy grief so common to 
her class, “ Oh Archibald — my nurseling — my son, and mair 
than my son (for thou art the head of the name) — thy curly 
pow will soon be on the Netherbow, wi’ the gleds the 
corbies croaking owre it !” 

The countess trembled and grew pale ; but drawing herself 
proudly up (and her height was as towering as her aspect was 
majestic), she said calmly, 

“ Let them come ! I have seen my father hewn down before 
my eyes, and I have heard the clang of steel upon my hearth 
ere now. Let them come — they are welcome ; but more wel- 
come would they be,” she added with an almost savage flash 
in her eyes, “if I were among my father’s race in Douglas- 
dale !” 

While she spoke, the heavy arras concealing the doorway 
was raised, and a number of sturdy legs cased in red stockings, 
shoes garnished with enormous red rosettes, and the butt-ends 
of partisans, became visible. Then the Albany herald, a dark 
and stately man, about forty years of age, clad in his gorgeous 
tabard, carrying his plumed cap in one hand and a paper in 
the other, entered the room, bowing almost to the ribbons at 
his knees. The Bute pursuivant who accompanied him held 
back the arras, and revealed four halberdiers of the provost 
clad in the city livery, blue gaberdines laced upon the seams 
with yellow, and ten men of the cardinal’s guard, wearing the 
colours of Bethune, and the arms of the archbishopric of St. 
Andrew'’s worked upon the sleeves and breasts of their doublets. 
They were armed with steel caps, swords and partisans, but re- 
mained respectfully without the apartment. One was bleeding 
profusely from a wound on the cheek, hav ing had a tough en- 
counter with the armed servants below. 


THE king’s ADVOCATK.- 


129 


“ Herald,” said the countess, haughtily, “ if you seek the earl, 
iny son, I swear to you that he is not here !” 

The herald hesitated. 

“ By the forty blessed altars of St. Giles, I swear to you that 
he is not !” 

“ Madam, I do not seek the earl,” said the herald, with the 
utmost respect ; “ but I have here an order from his eminence 
the cardinal as lord chancellor, and in tht> -^ame of the king, 
for your arrest.” 

“ Mine !” rejoined the countess, thanking God in her inmost 
heart that it was not her unwary son they sought ; “ for my 
arrest ! on what charge, herald ?” 

“ Treason : the resetting of rebels, and ” he paused. 

“ What more wouldst thou dare to say ?” 

“ Suspicion of sorcery, or teaching thy daughter sorcery.” 

“ Sorcery ?” reiterated the countess, gazing at him with ter 
rifled eyes, and speaking almost with the voice of a dying per- 
son ; while the three girls, who clung to her robe, uttered aery 
of alarm. “ Daredst thou have said so much to my father. Sir 
Archibald Douglas, of Kilspindie ?” 

“ I would have said so to any man under God, whom the 
king commanded me to arrest.” 

“ But to a helpless woman ?” 

“ I am in the king’s service, madam.” 

“ Thou art a Hamilton !” said the countess, scornfully. 

“ 1 am, madam,” replied the herald, proudly , “ 1 am John 
Hamilton, of Darnagaber — a gentleman of the house of Arran.” 

“ I thought as much,” said the countess, courtseying scorn- 
fully again to conceal how her knees bent under her ; “ the 
gentlemen of that house are thick as locusts now.” 

“ Do not look on me thus, madam,” said the herald, with 
dignity ; “ I am a gentleman of coat-armour, and brook my 
lands as my forbears won them, by captainrie and the sword.” 

‘^Allace !” said the countess, as she obtained a glimpse of the 
armed men ; “ what new dishonour is this ? why am I arrested 
by the cardinal’s guards, who are but mere kirk vassals ?” 

“Sir John Forrester and the lieutenant of the king’s guard, 
could not be found : besides, madam, they are the assured 
friends of the master of the ordnance, who ” 

“ And thou, John Hamilton of Darnagaber, art thou not 
ashamed to execute these orders ?” said the bold and beautiful 
Sybil, flxing her keen black eyes, with an expression of unut 
terable scorn, on the calm face of the herald. 

6 


130 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


“ Noble damsel,” he answered, quietly, “ I have said that I 
am in the king’s service, and obey but the constituted author- 
ities ol the land ; yet I do so, deploring from my soul this 
cruel and sad necessity.” 

“ Sorcery !” said the countess, speaking to herself; “ by ray 
father*s bones! Sorcery — oh I my God! — sorcery! Woe 
worth the deviser of this scheme — for a scheme it is, which the 
swords of Ashkirk and Angus shall unravel.” She added, 
tying on her hood and cloak of sables with trembling hands, 
“ Alison Hume, do thou look to my jewels and other valuables ; 
they lie in that strong cabinet ; but. Sir Herald, what of these 
three noble ladies, my guests and kinswomen ; they ” 

“ Are not included in the warrant.” 

“Then they shall remain with my daughter here.” 

“ Your daughter, lady,” said the herald, confusedly ; “ nay 
they must be sent to their families under safe escort : my own 
sons, who serve in the king’s guard, shall convey them with all 
honour to their homes. Be easy on that score, madam.” 

“ But thou, my doo — Sybil ?” 

“ I,” sobbed Sybil, “ oh, dear madam, I go with you.” 

“ To ward ?” 

“ To death, madam — my second mother ! for such indeed you 
have been.” 

“ My puir bairn, thou hast nowhere else to go ; for thy father 
is in exile, and Hamilton of Dalserf holds his ca«tle and barony 
of Kilspindie.” 

“Lady Ashkirk, where is your daughter, tbo Lady Jane?” 
said the herald, unwilling to say that his cruel warrant included 
her also. 

“ She is at the convent of Sienna, where, I pray you, to let 
her hear these heavy tidings gently.” The herald bowed with 
increasing gravity. “ But whither go we now — to the castle, 
of course ?” 

“ Nay, madam, to the tower of Inchkeith.” 

“ A sure place, and a strong too ! The high rof'ks and the 
deep waves were not required surely to fence in a feeble auld 
body like mine. Be it so — I am ready ! Oh, for a score of 
those good men and true, that my husband led to the battle of 
Linlithgow ! Where now are all the gallant and the generous 
hearts of other days ?” 

“God hath taken them to himself, madam,” replied the 
herald, whose eyes moistened. 

“ Your pardon, sir ; I knew not that I spoke aloud.* 


THE KING’S ADVOCATE. 


131 


“ Lady Ashkirk, your husband spared my life on that unfor- 
tunate field. When the Master of Glencairn, with a thousand 
Douglas lanc^’j, forded the Avon, and cut the column of Bar* 
dowie to pieces, I had there been slain but for your husband’s 
valour. I owe his memory a debt of gratitude — trust to my 
kindness. Horses are in waiting to convey you to Leith ; and 
I have orders to see that your household property is every way 
respected. All lights and fires are to be extinguished — all 
bolts and bars made fast, and I place my seal upon the door- 
way.” 

“ God be with thee, Alison, and thee, ray bonnie Marion. 
Fare-y e-well, my bairns; and thou, too, Janet, my leal ser- 
vitor — ” 

“ This woman may attend your ladyship.” 

“ Sir, I thank you,” said the countess, but Janet could only 
weep, and she did so with great vociferation. 

The herald took the hand of the countess respectfully, she 
leaned^ on the arm of Sybil, the sable page raised her long 
train, the guards fell back to salute her as she passed, and, 
amid the sound of lamentation above, below, and around her, she 
descended the long stone staircase of her mansion, a prisoner. 

Situated three miles from Leith, in the middle of the Firth 
of Forth, the ancient tower of Inchkeith (which was demolishea 
in 1567) occupied the summit of that beautiful isle, on a rock 
one hundred and eighty feet above the water. It was of vast 
strength and great antiquity, for it was the Caer Quidi of the 
venerable Bede. Well defended by cannon and a barbican wall, 
which bore the royal arms of Scotland, it was deemed a place 
of such importance that the Queen Regent, Mary of Guise, and 
the French ambassador, John de Montluc, the learned Bishop 
of Valence, paid it a visit twelve years after the date of this 
our history. Inaccessible on all sides, save one, this island is 
fertile on its summit, and is watered by many springs that flow 
from its rocks which are literally swarming with grey rabbits, 
and fierce Norwegian rats. 

The night was dark, but guided by a beacon of turf and 
tar-barrels that blazed on the summit of the tower to direct 
them, (for the cardinal and lord advocate had provided for 
everything,) eight mariners of the admiral Sir Robert Barton’s 
ship pulled sturdily across the broad liver towards Inchkeith. 
’ Few stars were visible, and a chill wind from the German Sea 
|5^blew coldly across the broad bosom of the open estuary. 

5 , Tae island, with the light gleaming like a red star on its 



132 


JANE seton; or, 


summit, loomed darkly afar off in the distance, and seemed to 
rise in height at every stroke of the oars. The countess was 
seated in the stern beside the anxious Albany herald, whose 
dread of a rescue made' him lose no time in executing the 
orders of the lord advocate. 

The seamen bent to their oars in sullen silence, and under 
their fur caps and shaggy eyebrows gave hostile glances from 
time to time at the countess, for the whisper of sorcery was, in 
those days of superstition, more than enough to steel every 
heart against her. Full of her own sad and bitter thoughts, she 
was unaware of this, and sat proudly and erect, with the' cold 
wind blowing on her fine but pallid features. Within the last 
two hours she seemed to have grown much older. Her nose 
had become pinched, her cheeks haggard, but her unmoistened 
eyes were full of fire ; for indignation and studied revenge, 

“ Had locked the source of softer woe, 

And burning pride and high disdain, 

Forbade the rising tear to flow.” 

The graceful head of Sybil reclined on her shoulder ; she 
wept bitterly; and the countess, who thought of her absent 
daughter with more fear and sorrow than for her son, whose 
daring character she knew well, pressed the orphan heiress of 
Kilspindie to her breast. 

She knew not the depth or the daring of Redhall’s plot ; 
that her daughter was included in the same warrant, and that 
with him alone lay the power of opening or closing for ever 
the door of the prisons which were now to inclose them. 

Two torches which were borne by two of the Cardinal 
Guard (for this prelate had founi a band of pikemen necessary 
for his protection against the assassins constantly employed bj 
Henry VIII. for his destruction) cast a lurid glare upon tho 
boat’s crew and the seething water, as they streamed in the 
night wind ; on the steel caps and glancing weapons of the 
soldiers, the wiry beards and swarthy visages of the seamen ; 
on the herald’s splendid tabard ; on the black, shining visage of 
Sabrino, and on the reddened waves of the Forth, which 
became crested with foam as they neared the rocks of the isle, 
where they were seen dashing like snow over the iasfofcd reefs 
of the Long Craig. 

The torchlight, the moaning breeze, the lonely water, and 
the daik and gloomy sky, all combined to give a wild and pio 


THE king’s advocate. 


133 


to tlie whole scene ; which must infallibly have 
i .1 tlie countess, and still more so the romantic Sybil, 

h id thry been less occupied with their own thoughts. Yet 
one could not i-epress a shudder, or the other a faint cry, when 
at times the frail boat plunged down into the trough of the 
dark waves, or rose on their summits, with the broad blades of 
the weather oars flourishing in the air. 

The jarring of the boat against the rude rocks of the creek 
on the south-west, the only landing-place, roused the countess 
from her reverie, and she shuddered still more to see, frowning 
stupendously above her, the strong square tower of the Inch, 
perched on the very verge of “ the Climpers,” as the fishermen 
name those basaltic clift’s, against which the waves are ever 
rolling in one eternal sheet of foam. 

The sheer rocks of the creek are perpendicular as a wall, 
and are fully sixty feet high, while those of the tower are 
exactly thrice that height. In this narrow fissure the troops 
of the queen-mother landed in 1549, to drive out the English 
and Germans who had lodged themselves there ; when Mon- 
sieur de Biron had half his helmet driven into his head by the 
shot of an arquebuse ; Monsieur Desbois, his standard-bearer, 
was slain by another, while the Cavaliere Gaspare Strozzi, 
captain of the Italians, and many more, fell before the English 
were cut to pieces. 

“ Oh, my winsome bairn — my daughter, Jeanie — when 
again shall I ever behold thee ? ” exclaimed the poor old coun- 
tess, as she stretched her trembling hands in the direction of 
the city, which being then buried in the gloom and obscurity 
of midnight, was totally invisible. “ When shall I behold 
thee again ? But, till then^ may that blessed Virgin whose 
wondrous sanctity our Lord hath honoured with sae many 
miracles, keep a watch over thee ! ” 

“ Assuredly, there is no witchcraft here ! ” thourht the 
Albany herald. 

Rolled up in a warm cloak of couleur-du-roi. Sir James 
Hamilton, of Barncleugh, captain of the tower, was readv at 
the landing-place with a few soldiers and torch-bearers to 
receive them. Attended by these and the herald. Lady Ash- 
kirk, leaning on the arms of Sybil and Janet, with the taciturn 
Sabrino following, ascended the zig-zag path which l<^ads into 
the beautiful and verdant little valley that lies in the centre of 
the island, and is sheltered from the cold wind by basaltic 
dills on the east and west. 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


134 

Above them rose the dark outline of the tower, with the 
large red balefire sputtering on its summit to direct the home- 
ward bound ships of Leith. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE FORTUNATE SWORD THRUST, 

“ Adew Edinburgh ! that heich triumphant toun, 

Within quhose bounds richt blytheful I have been ; 

Of trew merchants, the rout of this regioun, ^ 

Most ready to ressave court, king, and queen. 

Thy policie and justice may be seen. 

Were devotioun, wysedom, and honestie. 

With credence tint, they micht be found in thee ” 

Lindesay of the Mount. 

In total and happy ignorance of the events of the past night, 
Roland awoke next morning. The dawn was struggling 
through an atmosphere of mist and fog. Thougii roused by 
the tramp of feet and the lumbering roll of artillery wheels, he 
would fain have slept a little longer, for the palace clock was 
only striking four ; but he sprang out of bed with the resolu- 
tion of a soldier, and found old Lintstock all accoutred in his 
sleeved habergeon, with gourgerin, salade, sword, dagger, and 
priming-horn, ready to dress and arm him, a process which use 
and wont made wonderfully short, when we consider that 
Roland was to be encased in a complete suit of plate armour. 
It was elaborately gilded and engraved with legends of the 
Scottish saints, for such was the superstition of the age, that 
such devices were deemed a protection greater even than a coat 
of tempered mail. His helmet was surmounted by the crest of 
the Viponts, a swan’s head rising from a ducal coronet, all of 
frosted silver, and above it floated his plume. A belt of perfumed 
and embroidered leather sustained his sword and dagger, and 
in his hand he carried a gilt baton as captain or master of the 
ordnance. For breakfast, a slice of beef and a pot of wine 
from the relics of the supper sufticed both him and Lintstock, 
who said — 

“ Now that old bundle of roguery, who keeps the Cross and 
Gillstoup^ will be ready to curse himsel’ wi’ bell, book and can 

. V 


* 


THE kino’s advocate. 


135 


die, when he finds we’re awa’ ; and he may whistle on the wind 
for payment.” 

“ Till I return, say, I pray you.” 

“ Of course ; we’ll pick up some braw things by way o’ con- 
tribution. The king’s soldiers, gentlemen of the sword, maun 
live, and live wi’ honour.” 

“ Is the earl here ?” 

“ The earl ?” 

“ Of course ; he is going with us.” 

“To look for himself?” 

“ Surely — an excellent joke ; I meant to take him, where in 
reality none expect to find him; for I tell thee, Lintstock, this 
march westward is all a trick of mine enemies at court, to banish 
me fi’om the king’s presence and this good town of Edinburgh, 
•vhen they know I would give my ears to remain in it.” 

“ Aha !” said Lintstock, giving under his helmet a shrewd 
Scots wink with his solitary eye ; “ 1 can see into a millstone as 
far as my neighbours ; but, certes ! 1 saw na this.” 

Roland yawned below his visor as he faced the cold breeze 
Jiat swept from the sea round Arthur’s Seat, and gave a casual 
glance at the hundred soldiers of the guard whom his friend 
Leslie was arraying with their arquebuses, rests and bandoliers ; 
and another at his sixteen gunners, who were all stout men in 
steel bonnets and jacks, armed with swords and gloves of plate, 
and who were tracing the horses, and preparing two very hand- 
some French culverins for the march. These were two of those 
fifty-six beautiful pieces of brass cannon, presented by Francis 
1. to his daughter Magdalene on her becoming queen of Scot- 
land, and which were long after known in the arsenal by his 
cypher which was engraved on them. 

Like all men of the old school (for they have existed in 
every age, and every age has had “a good old time” to regret), 
Lintstock was scrutinising these cannon narrowly with his one 
eye, and commenting from time to time in sorrow and with 
anger on the various innovations they exhibited, and the mul- 
titude of ornamental rings which encircled the first and second 
i reinforce, the chase and muzzle of each; and he could not 

repress a groan at the trunnions with which they were sup- 
ported on the carriages, and the curved dolphins, which served 
I B for mounting and dismounting them. Thrawn-mouthed Mow, 
which had knocked out his left eye by her splinters, had been 
Hi bl'issedly free (as he remembered) of all such useful ornaments 
I ai d lay on her stock like one log lying on another. 


136 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ By my holy dame ! but this dings Dunse !” said the old 
fellow, shaking "his battered morion; “this world will no do 
now, for an auld body like me ; and the suner I march to my 
lang hame the better. Gudesake ! what have they made o’ the 
aim frontlets ?” 

“Sic auld-fashioned things are no needed, ye grumling 
carle,” said a young cannoneer ; “ especially when the trunnions 
are so placed, and the quoins are so low.” 

“ Ye are but a bairn ; trunnions ! we levelled six and twenty 
pieces on Flodden field, and devil a trunnion was among them 
a’. We were but ten thousand that day, and the Lord Surrey 
had six and twenty thousand under his banner : but say nae 
mail' o’ Flodden, for I feel as if this corslet would burst when I 
think o’t !” 

Roland paid no attention to the ola soldier’s complaints ; hr. 
was intently observing a man who was muffled in a sad 
coloured mantle, and leaned against the wall of James the 
Fifth’s tower, watching the preparations for the departure of 
this little band. The hour was so early that no other person 
was visible about the palace, save the arquebussiers on duty in 
the archways. 

“Yonder is either Redhall, or his friend with the borns,” 
thought Roland. “ Now what errand can bring my lord advo- 
cate abroad at this early hour ! Ah, rascal ! more than proba 
ble it is to thee I owe this untimeous march, without bidding 
once adieu to her who loves me so well.” 

Being somewhat curious to know wherefore this man, whom 
he knew to be his enemy, was lounging there, Roland walked 
slowly and deliberately towards him. 

A fatality attended Redhall this morning. 

Lady Jane and the earl, her brother, were both now safe in 
his house — a strong edifice, which, if properly garrisoned, 
might have stood a siege of all their faction ; and there we 
shall, ere long, pay them a visit. The earl he valued at a thou- 
sand merks ; but his sister he prized more than all the wealth 
of the Indies. Restless and anxious, this arch-conspirator could 
not feel sure of his capture, while so enterprising a pair of com- 
rades as Vipont and Leslie were in Edinburgh : and burning 
with impatience to see them fairly depart (on an expedition from 
which he was resolved they should never return), he had never 
undressed or been in bed, and had now come to observe if they 
marched, before the tidings of the countess’s arrest, and the 
disappearance of her daughter, spread throughout the city. 


THE king’s advocate. 


13t 


In those stirring times, the most daring outrages were es- 
teemed but casual occurrences, and were thought little more of ■ 
than a shower of rain. A day never passed in which a dozen 
of castles were not stormed, or pettv conflicts fous’ht, in various 
parts ot the country ; and the good folks of Edinburgh were so 
much accustomed to the clash of swords, and seeing men run 
each other through the body for no better reason than because 
their worthy fathers had done the same before them, that the 
din of steel on the Hiegait was deemed scarcely worth raising 
one’s window for. Ten thousand clansmen might fight a battle 
now and then in the wilds of Ross or A’-gyle, and might even 
burn Inverness by way of variety ; and two months after, the 
news thereof would reach Holyrood. The energy and ability 
of James V. and the cardinal, established the Courts of Session 
ind Justiciary for the repression of such outrages; but these 
tribunals did not prevent the lord high treasurer from carrying 
off an heiress, a ward of the crown, and marrying her, hongre 
malgre^ to his son ; while the next geneFation saw without sur- 
prise the lord high chancellor murdering the secretary of state 
under the very eyes of royalty ; consequently, the reader must 
not imagine that it was any qualm of fear or conscience either 
that disturbed Redhall, and banished sleep from his eyes. No; 
restless exultation alone kept him awake. The time to visit his 
fair captive had not yet come ; the first paroxysm of her grief 
and anger had to pass ; and then to cool his excitement, and 
see his rival fairly en route for Douglasdale, he had walked 
forth with the first peep of dawn. 

Who that saw his grave and thoughtful face, and knew his 
stern and lofty character, would Jiave imagined that amid the 
sea of vast political matters in which he and the cardinal were 
immersed, and amid the busy whirl of their tumultuous public 
duties, gentle love had found a passage to his iron heart? An 
Infernal joy had now kindled a new glow within it ; and there 
w'as a wild gleam in his eyes, and a feverish flush on his cheek, 
as Roland Vipont approached him. 

Sir Adam Otterburn, of Redhall, says an old historian, was 
one of the handsomest men of his time ; but notwithstanding 
that he knew this well, the aspect of Vipont in his armour, 
blending the perfect ease of the cavalier with the loftiness of a 
true soldier, kindled in his bosom a glow of jealousy, not un- 
mixed with envy, and anger that he had been discovered in his 
lurking-place. 

Turning haughtily, he was about to walk slowly away to 


138 


JANE 8ET0N *, OR, 


wards the great doorway of the abbey church, when the voice 
of Roland arrested him with more hauteur than policy. 

“ Ho ! Sir Adam ! you are abroad betimes this inorniug.” 

Redliall turned and bowed with a cold smile in his eyes, the 
ferocious expression of which he vainly endeavoured to con- 
ceal. 

“ I crave pardon for interrupting your lordship’s morning 
reveries, or orisons,” said Roland, with somewhat of mischief 
in his eye ; “ but, ’Odzounds ! you must know that I permit no 
man to pass or avoid me without a pretty weighty reason ; and 
your lordship hath just so served me.” 

“ ’S life, sir ! dost thou think that I will give any reasons to 
one who queries me in such a tone ?” 

“ I did not thou thee,” replied Roland, with rising wrath. 

“Nor did I seek thee,” rejoined Redhall; and then they 
paused a moment, and gazed at each other with eyes of hatred ; 
the soldier with the expression of a lion, the lawyer with that 
of a serpent. In his secret soul each nourished a storm of ven- 
geance that longed to break forth ; but Redhall’s was almost 
subdued by his giddy exultation, and the reflection that Jane 
Seton was now, legally and illegally, so doubly in his power. 
“Nor did I seek thee,” he continued, “and had I on mine ar- 
mour, this insolence of first addressing me had assuredly been 
chastised.” 

“Mansworn dog!” exclaimed Roland, trembling with pas- 
sion ; “ thou who cloakest thy cowardice under the wing of 
this new-fangled court,” he added, seizing Redhall by his short- 
peaked beard, and almost rending it from his chin, “am I thine 
inferior, that thou shouldst acknowledge me first?” 

Redhall’s bonnet fell oft' ; his dark eyes gleamed with rage ; 
his moustachios seemed to bristle, and his black hair waved 
about his face like the mane of a Scottish bull. He could only 
utter a cry of fury, as he unsheathed his sword, regardless of 
the place, and that he was totally without armour , while Ro- 
land was in full mail for active service. 

“Come on,” he cried, hoarsely, for rage had deprived him 
almost of speech ; “ come on — thou — thou — on your guard 1 
quick! quick! or I am through you!” Roland hesitated. 

“ It were a coward’s deed to slay thee,” he replied, unsheath- 
ing his long Italian sword in self-defence, and feeling its point 
with the leathern palm of his gauntlet; “though, perhaps, it 
Vi owing to thee, and such as thee alone, that my sword now 
-«ins more blows than bonnet-pieces in the king’s servic-e.” 


THE king’s advocate. 


139 


Redhall rushed to the assault, and both their swords became 
engaged from point to hilt ; but Roland acted strictly on the 
defensive. He knew that to sla}’^ Redhall would be both dan- 
gerous and dishonourable; while if the reverse happened, Red- 
hall would gain immortal honour at court, and run no secon- 
dary risk. Vipont was a poor soldier of fortune, who lived by 
knight-service and the sword ; while Redhall was a powerful 
baron, allied to many warlike nobles, and a high officer of 
state. 

Roland parried one counter-en- carte so close to his throat 
that it would certainly have slain him where the gorget met the 
cuirass ; and then, finding that he had to do with no ordinary 
swordsman, he endeavouied to twist his own rapier in his ad- 
versary’s, and lock-in ; but Redhall met his blade in time ; it 
glided along his own like lightning, and then they both retired 
a step. 

In the palace yard the trumpet sounded for the march ; as 
Roland became impatient his anger rose, and he replied to four 
terrible thrusts by one which pierced the shoulder-blade of his 
adversary, and hurled him to the earth, breaking his sword like 
a crystal wand as he fell. 

In the sequel it will be seen how fortunate this thrust was 
for Jane Seton. 

“Now, hold thee, Vipont!” cried Leslie, through his barred 
helmet, as he ran up at that moment, “ by all the powers thou 
hast slain the king’s advocate 1” 

“ Be easy,” said Roland, smiling, as he carefully sheathed his 
word ; “dost think the devil dies so readily ?” 

“ ’S death 1 art thou not mad to be fencing here, like a 
French sword-player, when our trumpets are sounding ?” said 
Leslie, as he assisted Redhall to rise. “You are not woivnded,'" 
my lord, I hope ?” 

“ ’Tis only a stab like a button-hole — pshaw ! I will make a 
sure account of it,” said Redhall, wrapping his cloak about 
him, and striking the hilt of his sword into the top of the empty 
sheath. 

“ A good day to thee, thou hypocrite and assassin in black 
lafieta,” said Roland, leaping on his caparisoned horse, which 
Lintstock led up at that moment. 

“ Farewell, thou ruffian and cutthroat in plate and cloth of 
gold,” replied Redhall^ in the same tone of fierce irony. 

“ I will remember thy politeness. Sir Adam.” 

“ I will not forget thine, Sir Roland ; — adieu.” 


JANE 8ET0N , OR, 


UO^X 

And thus they separated, with bent brows, and eyes and 
hearts full of fire and hatred. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE BLACK PAGE. 


“ Ha ! there was a fatal evidence. 

All’s over now, indeed ! 

The morning tide shall sweep his corpse to sea, 

And hide all memory of this stern night’s work.” 

Scott. 

Leaning on the arm of Sybil, and attended by Sir James 
Hamilton of Barncleugh, the Albany herald and their follow- 
ers, we left the countess ascending the little valley which lies in 
the centre of Inchkeitli. They proceeded in silence, for the 
path was somewhat perilous ; the early morning was yet grey, 
though the eastern sky and ocean were fast brightening with 
the coming day. A cold wind swept over the bosom of the 
waters that girdled in the isle. About the middle of the valley 
a cleft in the rocks was reached, through which the pathway 
passed at direct right angles with that they had hitherto pur- 
sued; and from thence they continued to ascend, until they 
reached the summit of those precipices which, from the water, 
seemed to be inaccessible, and where the iron gate of the barbi- 
can stood, witli a moss-grown Scottish lion carved in stone 
above it. 

The light had been rapidly increasing as they ascended, and 
now behind bars of golden cloud, the broad round morning 
sun rose red and gloriously from his bed in the German ocean ; 
and then indeed did the beautiful river, that from Highland 
hills rolls down on yellow sands, seem one vast tide of molten 
gold flowing to the dark blue sea ; and beautifully in the warm 
sunshine were that bright blue and brighter gold mingling 
afar ofif in the estuary. 

The morning smoke and the humid vapours of the past 
night, yet veiled the close dense masses of the capital ; but tho 
spire of St. Giles, and the embattled tower of king David, the 


THE king’s advocate. 


141 


loftiest summit of the castle, whereon the St. Andrew’s cross 
was waving, were visible above the gauzy mist, that veiled the 
glens below. 

Clad in the brightest hues of summer, on one side lay Fife, 
its long expanse of sand studded by busy towns and red-tiled 
villages, baronial towers and ancient churches, its bold promon- 
tories jutting into the majestic river, and its beautiful moun- 
tains rising behind. On the other lay the three Lothians, with 
all their ripening fields and dark-green woods, the lonely cone 
of Soltra, the lonelier Lammermuirs, and the undulating sweep 
of the far-stretching Pentlands, a long blue waving chain of 
heath-clad mountain, that dwarfed the lesser hills, and threw 
the wooded cliffs of Corstorphine, the Calton, the castled rock, 
and even proud Arthur’s basaltic brow, into comparative obscur- 
ity. So deceiving is distance, that this chain of peaks seemed 
to start abruptly from the very margin of the river ; and Leith, 
with all its dense old Flemish wynds and closes, its marts and 
shipping, St. Mary’s spire and old St. Anthony’s tower, seemed 
to nestle at their feet. 

Westward of the isle lay that armed fleet which had so 
recently arrived from France, under the pennon of Admiral 
Sir Robert Barton, brother of that other gallant Admiral Sir 
Andrew Barton, who, when returning from fighting the Portu- 
guese, with two solitary ships,, was waylaid by Lord Howard 
and the whole English fleet in the Downs, where he was slain 
by a cannon-ball. 

The dawn of day, which had displayed this magnificent 
panorama to the countess and Lady %bil, had also revealed 
the sable visage of Sabrino to Sir James Hamilton of Barn- 
cleugh, who had never seen or heard of a black man before ; 
so he preceded the party, in some perturbation, signing the 
cross as fast as if all St. Anthony’s imps were behind him, and 
marvelling at so hideous a masque. 

“ Welcome to the tower of Inchkeith, ladies,” said he, turn- 
ing around, and raising his bonnet at the barbican gate. 

The countess replied, ‘‘ Heaven grant I may soon return the 
welcome in my own house. Sir James.” 

“ Though I am a Hamilton ?” replied the knight, with a 
smile. 

“ Oh, yes ; for these dire feuds begin to weary me.” 

“ Ah ! old fox,” muttered the castellan under his beard , 
“ because thy nose is below the water now. Had we lost, and 
^Jie Douglasses won the battle of Linlithgow,” said he with a 


142 JANE SETON ; OR, 

smile, “I doubt much if the feud had been tiresome ^ th? 
Lady Ashkirk 

“ She had not been here to-day,” replied the countess ; “ hiii 
how — what does this mean ?” she added, with some asperity, 
on seeing that two soldiers, in obedience to a sign from Barn* 
cleugh, crossed their pikes before Sabrino, to prei'eut liir 
entering the tower. 

“ It means, madam, that this black thing, quhilk in visag-ri 
so closely resembles the promoter of all evil, cannot enter here.’ 

“Sir James of Barncleugh,” said the Albany herald, inte? 
posing, “ he is the countess’s page.” 

“Page! ugh! I like not to look upon him. I would do 
much for thee, John of Dariiagaber, who art mine own natural 
born clansman, and more for the widow of gallant Earl John 
of Ashkirk (a Seton and Douglas man though he was), but, !>> 
my holy dame ! this black devil, whom I have no order U* 
receive, shall not enter the town of Inchkeith, that is flat !” 

“Sir James Hamilton,” said the countess, with dignity, “do 
be merciful, and spare us the humiliation of entreaty. Tliis 
poor black boy is faithful and gentle, kind and attached to me 
as a spaniel, and assuredly he will die if sepai ated from me ; 
for he is, I know, an object of abhorrence to the ignorant and 
the vulgar.” 

At this remark, which was unintentional, the commander of 
the island gave her a furious look, and cocked his bonnet over 
his right eye. 

“ Madam,” said he, coldly, “ you will excuse me ; lam but 
a blunt knight of James III., yet I would never forgive myself 
if anything evil occurred.” 

“ Kiss the hand of this gentleman, Sabrino,” said Sybil, 
“ and he will admit you.” 

Sabrino was a mute, or nearly so ; by some law of his bar- 
barous native land, his tongue had been cut out near the root ; 
thus he could only utter certain terrible and apparently unin- 
telligible sounds, and when doing so, opened his wide mouth to 
its utmost extent, revealing two rows of sharp teeth, and the 
black remains of his mutilated tongue, which he lolled about 
within the cavity in a manner which, to say the least of it, was 
very appalling. The poor terrified black was beginning to 
mutter his thanks in this extraordinary fashion, and gradually 
approached the Lord of Barncleugh, when the latter sprang 
back, with alarm in his eyes, and his hand on his sword. 

^ Got thee behind me, Satan !” he exclaimed. “ Away I 1 


THE king’s advocate. ] i3 

will not be touched bj thee. My hand ? nay, I will hew it off 
first. Hence, imp of darkness, for may I never see God, if 
thou abidest in this castle for a moment, or in this island for 
an hour.” 

I'o overcome his prejudices, even if the countess had stooped 
to Hatter them, seemed impossible ; therefore, she gave the 
herald her hand to kiss, thanked him for his kind courtesy, 
entrusted him with messages for her daughter concerning 
certain necessaries they required, for she doubted not her resi- 
dence on the isle would be a protracted one ; and then begging 
that he would see the poor black page delivered safely to the 
care of Sir Roland Vipont, of the captain of the guard, or any 
other of his friends, she entered the tower with Sybil and Janet, 
iheir last solitary attendant. 

Then the iron gate was closed and barred until the herald’s 
boat should have withdrawn from the island. 

A sign from the countess had been sufficient for Sabrino, and 
with tears and the utterance of many a strange and unearthly 
lamentation, he followed the herald and Hamilton of Barn- 
cleugh, who, after taking each a quaighful from a little keg of 
whisky that stood in the warder’s lodge, descended to the 
boat ; the disobliging castellan going thither partly from fear, 
and partly from courtesy, to see his friend and the page olJ 
together. 

“ I like this black creature as little as thee,” said the herald, 

“ but I have heard Father St. Bernard, when preaching of St. 
Frumentius of Ethiopia, tell us of a land, a hundred times the 
size of broad Scotland, where all the tribes were of this sable 
hue.” 

“ True — and I have seen such a visage on a banner, ere 
tliis.” 

“ Morrison of that Ilk carrieth three,” replied the herald ; 

“ I saw them beaten down by the Stewarts of Lennox on that 
day, by Linlithgow brig. But, remember thee, that my lord 
advocate wished a strict watch to be kept over this creature.” „ 

“ Then he should have inserted his name in the warrant of 
committal to ward. ’Slife ! there is an old draw-well in the 
barbican, where I could have lodged it very well. Though a 
dour carle, I know Sir Adam Otterburn to be an upright man, 
and abhorrer of sorcery; and there is in this Seton family 
much that smelleth sorely of it. Earl John found a book df 
the black art once when on an English fora^, as I have heard, 
but Redhall ” 


144 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ Ah, he is a very good man,” said the herald, ironically \ 
“ descended, indeed, from one of the apostles, by the father’* 
Bide.” 

“ Which ?” 

“ Judas.” 

“ Beware of thy waggery — he is a severe dispenser of the 
laws.” 

“ What the devil care I for him, or for the cardinal either, 
if it cometh to that !” 

“ My friend, my friend !” said Barncleugh, giving a furtive 
glance behind ; “ assuredly this black thing hath infected thee, 
for this discourse savoureth fearfully of the new heresy ; but I 
forget that thou art a near kinsman of Patrick Hamilton, the 
umquhile abbot of Fearn, and so-called martyr.” 

“ Nay, I remember only that I am speaking to a gentleman, 
Hamilton, and say what I choose.” 

“ Not always a wise proceeding — but here is the boat, 
cousin.” 

The mariners, who had been in no way pleased at having 
Sabrino as a passenger to the isle, and had been mutually 
feeding each other’s fears and prejudices during the herald’s 
absence, were very much discomposed by his returning with the 
same sable attendant ; and on hearing from tlie cardinal’s pike- 
men that Sir James Hamilton had declined to admit him 
within the tower, their murmurs became loud and undisguised. 
The herald shook hands with the knight, and attended by his 
pursuivant, sprang on boa’ d ; but when Sabrino attempted to 
follow, the coxswain, a s(|uare-visaged and sturdily built old 
fellow, with a long grey beard and shaggy eye-brows, snatched 
up a boat-booE, and attempted to push otf the pinnace; then 
Sabrir-', with one hand on the gunnel, and the other on his 
poniard, gave him a dark and terrible scowl. 

“ Awa, awa ! thou imp of Satan — hands off, or I will rib- 
roast thee !” cried the coxswain, somewhat alarmed at his own 
temerity. 

“Reeve a rope through his siller ear-rings and tow him 
overboard,” cried one sailor. 

“ Cast off ! cast oflf !” cried another ; “ I hae heard o’ sic 
imps that abyde at Cape Non, and eat of ship-broken mari- 
ners.” 

The coxswain raised the iron-shod boat-hook. 

“ Hold !” exclaimed the herald, springing forward, but he 
was too late ; it descended like ^ thunderbolt on the round. 


THE king’s advocate. 


145 


woolly head of Sabrino, and he disappeared like a stone in the 
deep fathomless abyss of the creek. “ Dolt !” added the herald, 
“ I have pledged my word of honour for his safety, and tliou 
hast slain him.” 

“ Heed it not, good fellow ; I will owe thee a score of 
bonnet pieces for that,” cried Sir James Hamilton, as he sprang 
up the steep winding pathway that led towards the tower, 
while the oars dipped into the water, and the boat shot out 
upon the river, whose waves were dancing brightly in the 
glow of the cloudless morning. 

Before this, the countess and Sybil, overcome by weariness, 
the grief of the past night, and a total deprivation of sleep, 
had fallen into a deep slumber in a chamber of the tower above. 

The worthy lady of Barncleugh was somewhat of a terma- 
gant, which was generally averred to be the principal reason 
why the good laird her spouse had solicited from the cardinal, 
and retained, the solitary castellany of Inchkeith. The lady 
never came into the island, and the laird never went out of It ; 
but consumed the long and dreary days, revelling in the peace- 
ful monotony he now enjoyed, playing chess with his seneschal, 
and drinking usquebaugh mixed with a small proportion of the 
brackish spring-water of the isle. A table was placed near the 
gate of the tower, at a sunny angle of the barbican, on the 
very verge of those clitfs named the Climpers ; and there, with 
the sea rolling nearly a hundred and eighty feet below, the sea- 
ofulls and the solan geese croaking above them, they passed the 
summer afternoons, playing chess and drinking, with invincible 
resolution and impenetrable gravity, till sunset, when the knight 
was usually borne upstairs, and put to bed, the damp air Iniving 
stiffened his limbs, as he always declared next day — an assertion 
which the seneschal (who had his own thoughts on the matter) 
never dared to deny. * 

It may easily be supposed that such a castellan was in no 
way calculated to relieve the tedium, soothe the grief and mor- 
tification, or lessen the fears, of the countess and Sybil ; for 
days rolled on and became weeks, and the weeks were ap- 
proaching a month ; and though the opposite coast and the 
city, the scene of all their anxieties, were little more than three 
miles distant, they remained in total and blessed ignorance of 
all that was passing there. 

They seemed to be as utterly forgotten as if they had been 
in the oubliettes of the cardinal. 

The countess heard nothing of her daughter, whom she ha* 

10 


JANE 8KT0N ; OK, 


146 

fully expected to join her ; and Sybil learned nothing or ner 
lover ; so whether, with the Douglas faction, he was bearing 
all before him at sword’s point, and waging a victorious though 
rebellious war with the king and court; or whether he had 
returned to exile at the capital of England, they knew not. The 
total absence of all intelligence made then* conclude the latter, 
and that he had taken Lady Jane with him to protect her. 
Then the countess would weep bitterly at the thought of such 
a separation, for England was then a hostile country ; and places 
that are now but a day’s journey distant were then deemed 
afar off and difficult of access. A chain of royal castles watch- 
ed the English from the south, and the cannon of Berwick and 
Carlisle, Norham and Newcastle, frowned towards the Scottish 
mountains on the north. Safe conducts and passports were 
constantly required on both sides of the frontier, the jealous 
Scot and his aggressive neighbour seldom saw each other save 
under the peaks of their helmets ; and an exchange of cannon- 
balls and sword-cuts were the only traffic in which they were 
permitted to deal. Though we can smile at such a state of 
matters between the two kingdoms, experience is daily showing 
that Scotland will soon require some firmer guarantee for her 
national privileges than a British parliament can afford her, 
against the march of centralization. 

A little rocky island, half a mile in length by the eighth of 
a mile in breadth, could afford but few amusements. Sybil 
soon tired of watching the white sea-gulls and the gigantic 
solan geese that floated about the Longcraig, in the fissures of 
which the waves were ever roaring with a sound of thunder. 
She tired too of watching the passing ships, the Holland wach- 
ters, the flemish crayers, the Rocheliers and Dunkirkers, with 
their high poops and great square banners, the large brown 
lug-sails of the boats which then fished between the island and 
the town of Kinghorn ; and of hearkening to the hum of that 
song which the fishers of the Forth yet chant to their oars, the 
end of each monotonous verse being — 

“The leal gudeman of Aberdour, 

Sits in Sir Alan Vipont’s tower.” 

She tired of watching the endless waves 4s they rolled on the 
rocky beach, marking every tenth billow as the largest and 
most forcible, a phenomenon known since the days of Ovid ; 
and Sybil sighed for the city, whose lofty castle and ridgy out- 
line “ piled deep and massy, close and high,” she saw daily 
shining afar off in the summer sun. 


THE KINq’s advocate. 


147 


More content — for the wants, the wislies, and the hopes of 
age are generally tew — the countess wiled away the time in the 
perusal ot her missal, and searching for the four-leaved clover 
which she found sometimes in the little valley, and solemnly 
pulled, saying, after the old Scottish fashion, “ In nomine Patris, 

I ilii et Spiritus Sancti,” to be preserved and worn as a charm 
against the evil eye^ which she thought was observable in Sir 
James Hamilton of Barncleugh. 

“ Sybil, my bairn,” she frequently whispered, when the besot- 
ted castellan was dozing over his wine and chessboard, “ he 
hath indeed a most evil eye, and whatever he looks upon cannot 
thrive ; so keep all thy blessed relics and consecrated medals 
about thee. Bewaie,” she would add, smoothing the jet-like 
ringlets, and kissing the cheek of Sybil, which exhibited that . 
peculiar olive tint of the brave old Douglas race, which is 
so much richer than the most roseate hue ; “ beware thee too of 
approaching yonder end of the valley, for I fear me mickle the 
gude wichts dwell among the rocks and in confirmation she 
pointed to those bright sparry particles which frequently stud 
basaltic masses, and in Scotland are denominated fairy pennies, 
“More than once after nightfall, when sitting at my dreary 
chamber window in yonder tower, I have heard melodious 
sounds, and seen strange gleams of light emitted from yonder 
brae. I remember that my worthy lather. Sir Archibald, 
(quhom God assoilzie) once showed me a knowe near unto the 
duletree that grew beneath our Castell o’ Kilspindie, the stones 
whereof were studded with these sparry marks, and therein 
dwelt the gude-wichts in such numbers as ye will find the sand 
on the sea shore. Quiet gude neibours they were, but wrathful 
and dangerous to molest. It happened in the year 1501, as he 
rode thereby, in full harness with his visor up, and the red 
heart fluttering on its pennon behind him — lo ! the whole hil- 
lock was seemingly raised, and stood on twelve pillars, each 
about four feet high ; and below he saw crowds of wee men 
and wee women all dressed in grass green, wi’ foxglove and 
blue-bells on their heads. Thousands were dancing to the hum 
o’ fairy harps and drums, while thousands more were airing 
heaps of gold, and pushing to and fro great chests full of shin- 
ing coins. Sorely amazed a^ this sight, his hair bristled up 
below his helmet, but he bethought him of the patron of our 
house. 

“ ‘ Sancta Brigida, ora pro me !’ said he (being all the Latin 
he had ever picked up from Father St. Bernard), when down 


148 


JANE SETON; OR, 


sank the hill, its grassy side became dark, for light and sound 
and fairies vanished, and then the gude knight, my father, 
thought it no shame on his manhood to gallop swiftly away. 
Ah, me ! this was in the time of king James IV., of gallaiit 
memorie I” 

Brighter and sunnier June came on ; but such and so close 
were the measures of the cardinal, and his able second, the 
king’s advocate, that no tidings reached that lonely little isle 
of the events which were taking place so near. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

JOHN OF THE SILVERMILLS. 

“ I never met with an adept, or saw such a medicine, though I had fervently pray«d 
for it. Then I said, • Surely you are a learned physician?’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘ I am a 
brass-founder, and lover of chemistry.’ ” 

Bra.xi>e. 

The king was seated in one of the apartments of that stntely 
tower of Holyrood, that still bears his name, which until recent- 
ly was visible on the front thereof, carved and gilt in gothic 
letters, — 

3(ac. 3£tti. V. .gfotorbm. 

One window opened towards the Abbey hill, an eminence then 
covered with apple-trees, and other wood in full foliage ; a path 
ran round its base, and another crossed its summit. The first 
led to the castle of Restalrig and St. Margaret’s gifted well ; 
the second was the ancient Easter-road to Leith. It was then 
and for long after, destitute of houses ; Gordon, in his View of 
Edinburgh, taken in 1647, represents only eight small dwell- 
ings on this now populous eminence and the Croft-an-Righ 
that lay between it and the walls of the Abbey Church. 

The outher window afforded a view of the Calton with its 
rocks of basalt, then bare, desolate, and unfrequented, with the 
eagle hovering over their summLs, as if to show that his prey, 
the ptarmigan, the red grouse^ and the black cock, were not far 
off. 

The sun was setting, and its warm light fell aslant upon the 
Waving orchards of Holyrood ; the square towers and magnifi- 


THE king’s advocate. 


i4n 

cent doorway of its church, and the green coppice on which the 
king was gazing listlessly, with one hand resting on the neck 
ot his favourite old hound Bash, and the other thrust among the 
thick curls of his auburn hair, as a support to his head. The 
passers were few. A mendicant friar, with his begging box and 
staff, came slowly over the hill ; a knight, armed nearly cap-a- 
pie lor travelling, spurred from the Watergate, and his armour 
was seen flashing in the sunbeams, among the foliage as he 
rode towards Restalrig. The king was lost in reverie, and sau 
with his eyes fixed on the sparrows that twittered on the mas- 
sive gratings of the large window. 

The illness of that fair young bride whom he loved so pas- 
sionately pressed heavily on his heart ; the more painfully so, 
that from its perplexing and apparently mysterious nature, it 
seemed utterly beyond the reach of alleviation. She laboured 
under a rapid consumption, of the nature of which Francis I. 
had repeatedly warned James V. ; but young, ardent and impe- 
tuous, her royal lover would listen to nothing save the dictates 
of his passion ; and slighting the love of Mary of Lorraine (his 
future wife), he had wedded Magdalene. Now despite all the 
skill of his physicians, and the care of her own attendants, the 
young queen, within twenty days after her landing in Scotland, 
was almost hovering on the brink of the tomb. 

As day by day she sank more and more, the Countess of 
Arran declared that the fairies were extracting all her strength ; 
others averred solemnly and gravely, that she was under the 
influence of witchcraft : for it was an age fraught with the 
wildest superstition. An illness such as hers, when the secret 
source of decay was unseen and unknown to the quack physi- 
cians and astrologers who surrounded her couch, made their rest- 
less credulity readily adopt the idea of mystic agency. 

The time was full of fanciful terrors ; the dispensations of 
God were invariably attributed to magic invocations and demo- 
niac maledictions ; to invisible shafts from the elves and fairies 
who peopled every rock, hill, and tree, the only antidotes to 
which were the prescriptions and the counter-charms of impos- 
tors and self-deluded dabblers in the occult sciences. Dreams, 
in those days, the result doubtless of ponderous suppers and 
morbid constitutions, were received as visions of the future, as 
solemn forewarnings and divine inspirations from God — fraught 
sometimes with happiness, but more frequently with death and 
terror, war and woe. 

Thus the poor young queen, whose on« ut eyes while they 


150 


JANE seton; or, 


Bank never lost their lustre, and whose cheek, while it grew 
hollow, still retained its rosy and transparently beautiful hue, 
continued lo waste and grow thinner ; and the king with agony 
saw daily how her snowy arms and infantile hands were wear- 
ing less and less, until the bones became fearfully visible at 
last. 

He sighed, he prayed, and he wept ; but still the blasting, 
the wasting, the terrible attenuation went on. Her skin was 
white as marble, but ever hot and feverish ; and though a 
gentle smile played ever on her lips, there was a wild sad ear- 
nestness in her large blue eyes, in the quiet depths of which two 
orient stars — the stars of death — were ever shining. Everything 
that love could prompt and quackery advise, had been done ; 
she was bathed repeatedly in the waters of streams that ran 
towards the sun ; and in those of blessed and sanctified wells, 
which the saints had consecrated of old — but unavailingly. 

Barefooted, with bowed head, and candle in hand, the king 
had visited many a holy shrine ; but still Magdalene became 
worse ; and it was evident to all that the hand of death would 
soon be upon her — unless, as many added, the spell was 
broken. 

Suddenly the arras (which was of green damask flowered 
with gold) was shaken. The king started. It was raised, and 
there entered a man, whom a few words will describe. 

“ Well, most worthy deacon and doctor,” said James, spring- 
ing eagerly towards him ; “ what thinkest thou of the queen ?” 

The new comer mournfully shook his head and stroked his 
beard. 

The young king clasped his hands, and pushing a chair 
towards the physician, sank again into his own. 

John of the Silvermills was an old man with keen grey eyes 
that twinkled under bushy brows ; a long hooked nose ; a vast 
white beard that flowed over his sad-coloured cassock-coat. 
He wore a black velvet skull-cap, on the front of which were 
embroidered a cross, and a triangle within a circle — being the 
emblems of Religion, the Trinity, and Eternity. His form was 
bent by age ; his back was almost deformed, and one of his 
tremulous but active hands clutched a long silver-headed cane; 
the other, a small sand-glass, which supplied the place of a 
watch with the physicians of that age. 

Patronized by king James IV., who had been an eminent 
dabbler in alchemy, he was the first deacon of the Barber Chi- 
rurgeons of Scotland, whom that monarch had incorporated bv 


THK king's advocate. 


151 


royal charter in the year 1505 ; when every guild brother was 
obliged to pay five pounds to the altar of St. Mungo of Glas- 
gow, and prove his knowledge of “ anatomie, the nature and 
complexioun of everie member of the human bodie ; and in 
lykvvayis, all the vaynis of the samyn, that he may mak flew- 
botharaea in dew tyme ; and alsua that he may know in quhilk 
member the Signe has domination for the tyme for then 
astronomy, astrology, and alchemy formed the principal part 
of a medical education ; and king James IV. spent vast sums 
on the wild experiments of the learned John, at his laboratory, 
from which a district of our capital then obtained and still 
retains the name of Silvermills. 

“ Ah, my God ! and thou, — thou hast no good tidings for 
me, my venerable friend ?” said the young king, imploringly, as 
he seated himself. 

“ The queen’s grace is assuredly in gTeat dolour and sore 
pain,” replied the physician, resting his chin on the top of his 
cane, and fixing his keen eyes on the anxious and beautiful face 
of the young monarch ; “ she complains of an aching head, of a 
burning heart, and of a constant weariness and lassitude which 
overwhelm her. There is something in all this which perplexes 
me, and it seemeth ” 

“ Beyond thy skill, in short ? But oh, say not that !” 

“Nay, nay,” continued the mediciner, who spoke slowly, 
while his keen visage shook on the staff where he had pei-ched 
it ; “ but I must give it long and deep thought. I am assured 
— at least I hope — there is in my pharmacopoeia some simple 
that will restore her. That learned apothegar and worshipful 
clerk (though I agree with him in few things), Galen, the phy- 
sician of I'ergamus, possessed a manuscript which enumerated 
fifty thousand families of the vegetable world, with all their 
restorative or destructive qualities. Oh, for one glimpse of that 
glorious volume ! In all things following strictly the rules laid 
down by the learned Artesius, (who lived a thousand years by 
that very elixir, the secret of which is, at this time, enabling 
Paracelsus to work so many mirculous cures,) in the year 1509, 
I compounded my nepenthe^ a drug which driveth away all 
manner of pain, and my opohalsamum^ which was powerful 
even as the Balm of Gilead ; to the queen’s grace I have admi- 
nistered them both for the past week, and yet, miraculous to 
relate, she daily groweth worse.” 

“ My wife ! my heart !” said the king again wringing his 
hands ; “ must I see my poor dear little Magdalene perish thus ? 


62 


JANE SEION ; OR, 


I love her too much, and perliaps God is about to take her from 
rue. Oh ! canst thou do nothing for her ?” 

“I was at the University of Basil in 1525, storing my mind 
with fresh knowledge, when Paracelsus, by the recommenda- 
tion of Q^colampadius, was called to fill the chair of physic and 
surgery, and was present on that day when he so presumptu- 
ously burned the works of Avicenna and Galen, assuring us 
that the latchets of his shoes knew more of physic than 
both these learned doctors ; and that all the universities and 
all the writers of the earth, past and present, know less than 
the smallest hair of his beard ; for he had in his brain the 
mighty secret which would prolong life for ever — yea, even 
unto the verge of eternity — the secret of Artesius 

“ This was the very madness of learning and vanity,” said the 
king. “Well?” 

“ Erasmus believed in him, and was cured of a grievous ill- 
ness by one drop of the principal ingredient.” 

“ What, Desiderius Erasmus, of Kotterdam, the tutor of 
my brother Alexander, who fell at Flodden ? Well, well — and 
this — ” 

“ Ingredient was a simple used of old by a King of Egypt, 
and it is now written in hieroglyphics on tlie southern side of 
the great pyramid.” 

“ And those hieroglyphics ?” 

“ None can read save sorcerers ; for Paracelsus on that day, 
at Basil, destroyed, with the works of Avicenna, the sole exist- 
ing key thereto, and which was written on a blank leaf thereof.” 

“ May the devil confound thee, Paracelsus, and the great 
pyramid to boot ! I fear me much, thy musty magic will never 
cure the queen.” 

“ I pardon your majesty’s anger, for it hath its source in 
grief,” replied John of the Silvermills, calmly; “nature is full 
of mysteries. Our cradle and our coffin may be formed from 
the same tree, and yet we be ignorant thereof. Paracelsus — 

^ “ I say again, Mahound take Paracelsus ! but what doth this 
trite remark mean ?” 

“ That, like the mass of the unlettered world, your majesty 
scofls at what appears incomprehensible, and — ” 

The apothegar paused, for the arras was raised by a hand 
covered by a glove of fine scarlet leather, and Cardinal Beaton, 
who at all hours had the entree of the king’s apartments, stood 
before them, and both king and subject knelt to kiss his ring. 

“ The peace of the Lord be with thee and with thy spirit !” 


THE kino’s advocate. 1o3 

Bal'd the cardinal, seating himself, and looking kindly at the 
king, vvliose grief and distress were marked in every feature of hia 
tine tace. “In the ante-chamber I have heard how poorly her 
majesty is, and Mademoiselle Brissac has just been imploring 
my prayers, poor child ! But proceed, my learned doctor,” he 
added, with a slight smile ; while the deacon of the surgeons 
again perched his chin on the top of his cane, which was half 
hidden by his long white beard, and thus continued — 

“ Your majesty rails at the learned Paracelsus; I can afford 
to pardon that, when I remember me that to him we are 
indebted for introducing to the phatmacopoeia, the mercurial, 
the antimoiiial, and ferruginous preparations which act so bene- 
ficially upon the organs of our system.” 

“ But is not this I^aracelsus, of whom thou boastest, an 
impure pantheist,” asked the cardinal, “ who, while believing in 
the existence of pure spirits which are without souls‘ receives 
aliment from minerals and fiuids, and whose physiological 
theories are a wild mass of the most incoherent ideas, founded 
almost solely upon an application of the damnable mysteries 
of the cabala to the natural functions of the frame which God 
has given us ?” 

“I do not quite understand your eminence,” replied John of 
the Silvermills, turning, with as much asperity as he dared, to 
the cardinal, whose towering figure and magnificent dress were 
imposing enough, without the memory of that important posi- 
tion held by him ; “ but 1 understand, and, with Paracelsus, 
believe, (what certain malevolent commentators have denied,) 
that the sun hath an influence upon the heart, as the moon 
hath upon the brain; that Jupiter acts upon the liver, as Saturn 
doth upon the spleen ; Mercury on the lungs. Mars on the bile, 
and Venus on the kidneys and certain other organs. Hence 
the true apothegar should know the planets of the microcosm, 
their meridian, and their zodiac, before he attempteth to cure a 
disease. By due attention to them, he attains the discovery of 
the most hidden secrets of nature ; for our human bodies are 
but a conglomeration of sulphur, of mercury, and of immate- 
rial salt, which rendereth them peculiarly liable to planetary 
influences ; and as each of these three elements may admit of 
another, we may, without knowing it, possess within us water 
that is dry^ and fire that is cold^"* 

“ A subtle sophist,” said the cardinal, with a smile. 

The king listened in silence, and, full of Paracelsus, the doo 
Sor continued — 


154 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ Thus, please your eminence, by identifying himself with 
the celestial intelligences, hath this wondrous physician sc 
nearly attained a knowledge of the philosopher’s stone, and, 
by curing all diseases, raised to his fame a monument based on 
the four quarters of the earth. And doubtless if he prolongeth 
his own life, as he doth that of others, in time to come he will 
attain the secret of that other powerful elixir, by which Adam 
and the patriarchs prolonged their lives before the Deluge — ^yea, 
even unto nine centuries.” 

“ Gramercy me !” said the cardinal ; “and beware thee, John ! 
this man whom thou upholdest glories in the fame of his sorcery, 
and openly boasts of receiving letters from Galen that are dated 
from Hell, and also of his recent disputes held with Avicenna at 
the gate of that dread abode — disputes on the transmutation of 
metals, the elixir of the patriarchs, and the quintessence of the 
mithridate ; for I heard of all these things when I was study- 
ing the canon law at Paris. He blasphemously takes as his 
primary supports the writings of the holy fathers ; and while 
asserting that the blessed Gospels lead to all manner of truth, 
dares to add, that magical medicine can be learned by the 
study of the Apocalypse alone.” 

“ Enough of this, lord cardinal,” said the king, impatiently, 
observing that the doctor was angrily adjusting his velvet cap, 
preparatory to returning to the charge ; “ enough of this jar- 
gon, amid which my poor Magdalene will probably die.” 

“ It may be so, though God avert it ; for the disease is all 
but beyond my skill ; and I dread to state my suspicions, now 
that both my nepenthe and opohalsamuni have failed.” 

“ Thy suspicions ?” reiterated the cardinal. 

“ I know them already,” said the king, gloomily. “ Like 
the Countess of Arran, thou wouldst say that she is under a 
gp<jll ?” 

“ Which nothing but a counter-spell can break.” 

“ Mother of God !” said the king, “ I cannot believe in such 
things ! Lord cardinal, dost thou ?” 

“ And what manner of charm. Deacon ?” asked the cardinal, 
affecting not to hear the king ; for he did not scoft' at sorcery, 
though he did at Paracelsus. 

“ A muild, as our peasants call it. She may have trod upon 
a muild, which is a powder of potent effect, prepared from the 
bones of the dead, an so attered by sorcerers in the path of 
their enemies. We all know that, at the Sabaoth of the 
witches, sepulchres are violated, corpses are dismembered, and 


THE king’s advocate. 


15 » 


the limy particles of the bones pulverised to operate as mischiefs 
upon mankind. At this time the queen hath all the symptoms 
ot one who hath trod upon an enchanted muild, or dieth of 
pricked images — for they are the same. A swarfing of the 
heart, a fluttering of the breast. When the patients will 
merely sicken they turn red — when they will die, they turn 
pale.” 

“ And the queen is pale ?” said the cardinal. 

“ Yea, even as death.” 

“ The cure — the cure ?” sighed the king. 

“ There are two ; the first is, to find a certain reptile, forming 
one of the six species of salamanders ^which are indigenous in 
bouthern Europe, in the head whereof is a red stone, to be taken 
as a powder. For it is written by Paracelsus ” 

“Paracelsus again!” said James, stamping his foot; “the 
second cure ?” 

“ Is to burn the sorcerer.” 

“ Then Sir Adam Otterburn must sift this matter to its 
bottom.” 

“ Ah, that reminds me,” said the doctor, rising up, and 
cliitcliing his sand-glass; “I must now retire, with your ma- 
jesty’s leave.” 

“ To visit Sir Adam ? I knew not that he ailed.” 

“ A sword-thrust.” 

“Fromw'hom?” 

“ Sir Roland Vipont.” 

“ Vipont again!” said James V., knitting his brows ; “thus 
it is my friends are ever slaying each other. But he, my most 
valiant and true friend, has been quite besotted by those Setons 
of Ash kirk.” 

“ lie knew not of their arrest,” said the cardinal ; “ it was a 
sudden rencontre — a quarrel.” 

“ Oh, in that case, I have nothing to do with such little 
amusements. The Countess of Ashkirk ?” 

“Is in Barncleugh’s ward at Inchkeith.” 

“ Where I will keep her as long as James I. kept Euphemia 
of Ross on Inchcolin. An old intriguing limmer ! And the 
Lady J ane ?” 

“ Hath escaped to — do one knows where.” 

“ Poor damsel ! I feel some compunction for her, and fear 
'hat she hath been sorely misled by that deep old Douglas hei 
mother. And then the ear. ?” 

“ Hath vanished teo ” 


166 


JANE 8ET0N *, OR, 


“To England ?” 

“Most probably.” 

“But is Redliall’s wound severe!” asked Janries. 

The cardinal turned to the doctor. 

“ A fair run through the body, at the shoulder,” said tha 
physician. “’Twas well for him that Mercury, which influ- 
ences the lungs, was not in Abdevinain, or the lord advocate’s 
gown had been vacant.” 

“ Vipont goeth from bad to worse,” said the king, as the 
cardinal turned away to conceal his laughter. “ Kincavil run 
through the body one day, and my advocate the next. We 
must restrain his vivacity. In this spirit, Vipont will achieve 
little in Douglasdale; but let him bear in mind the vow I made 
when Sir David Falconer, the captain of my guard, was slain 
when covering the retreat of the artillery from Tantallan !” 

“ I hope your majesty will remember as well your gracious 
promise anent the charter, exempting our learned corporation 
from watching and warding, and all manner of military service 
within the city, save in time of siege.” 

“ Does your eminence hear ?” said James, with a smile, to 
the cardinal. 

“ It is just passing the seals,” replied the chancellor ; “ and 1 
will send the Lord Lindesay with it to-morrow — so, meantime, 
farewell.” 

The cardinal, who had more sense than a thousand such a? 
Paracelsus or John of the Silvermills, wisely recommended the 
king to remove his suffering bride to Balmerino (in Fifeshire). 
a Cistercian abbey, founded by the queen of William the Lion, 
Ermengarde de Beaumont, whose grave lay there, before the 
high altar. In this magnificent old pile, which was dedicated 
to St. Mary, apartments were prepared for the sickly Magda- 
lene. In a rich and pastoral district, it occupied a beautiful 
•'ituation, among fruitful orchards and the remains of an old 
primeval forest, sheltered on one side by verdant hills, and 
fanned on the other by the cool breeze from the bright blue 
basin of the Tay. 

On a sunny morning in June, under a salute of cannon from 
the castle, amid which the vast report of Old Mons or rather 
Monce Meg of Galloway was conspicuous, the young queen, 
with her anxious husband riding by her litter, and attended by 
a select number of courtiers (forming, however, a long caval- 
cade of horse), was conveyed from Holy rood to Leith, where 
Sir Robert Barton’s ship received and landed her two bours 


THE king’s advocate. 


151 


after, on the yellow sands of Fife. From thence they crossed 
tlie deep and fertile glen called the Howe, and, descending the 
Scuir Hill, approached Balmerino. 

With many deep sighs and portentous shakes of the head, 
all indicative of what no one could divine, John of the Silver- 
mills had to abandon his smoke-begrimed laboratory near the 
water of Leith, and accompany the court; carrying his books 
of Paracelsus, Galen, and Avicenna, and the anatomical works 
of Hippocrates, Herophilus, and of the great modern, Vesalius 
(the exposer of the errors of Galen), with all his retorts, cruci- 
bles, chafing-dishes, horoscopes, and other scientific rubbish, 
packed on sumpter-horses, by which much irreparable damage 
was sustained by certain glass phials and bottles that contained 
— the Lord alone knew what; but one was said to be the 
famous powder of 'projection^ which when thrown upon heated 
mercury or lead, turned them into silver or gold, and the loss 
thereof made the patient John rend his long beard, and pas- 
sionately bequeath himself to the devil a hundred times. 

“ If Magdalene groweth well here,” said the king to the car- 
dinal, as they dismounted at the gate of the monastery, “ to 
your eminence alone will Scotland and I be indebted for her 
recovery ; but if she becometh worse, and our suspicions are 
AJiifirmed, then woe to the authors of her illness — woe !” 


CHAPTER XXIl. 

TEN RED GRAINS. 


“ Yes ! in an hour like this, ’twere vain to hide 
The heart so long and so severely tried : 

Still to thy name that heart hath fondly thrilled, 

But sterner duties called and were fulfilled.” 

Mrs. Hemaks. 

Prior to his departure for Balmerino, and immediately on his 
leaving the palace, the learned apothegar visited the king’s 
advocate. 

The town house of Sir Adam Otterburn, the Redhall lodg- 
ing, as it was named, and as we have before stated, stood upon 
the south side of the Canongate, and near to the eastern end 
thereof. 


168 


JANE seton; or, 


At the present day the south side of this venerable street^ 
the memories of which go back to the days of St. David L, 
and the glories of Earl Randolph and Ramsay of Dalhousie, is 
still somewhat straggling, irregular and open ; in 1537 it was 
much more so. The houses were then detached, surrounded 
by gardens, and even parks ; for there were several barn-yards 
in the Canongate, some of which were destroyed by cannon- 
ading during the siege of 1573. 

The severe plagues of 1514 and 1520, which followed the 
slaughter of Flodden, swept away many of the citizens, whose 
houses were demolished to remove all chance of lingering in- 
fection ; thus the mansion of Redhall was remarkably solitary. 
A ruined and desolate barn-yard lay to the westward ; and a 
grass park, shaded by many beautiful sycamores, extended on 
the east nearly to the foot of the alley known as the Horse* 
wynd. 

It was a strong square five-storied house, with walls of enor- 
mous thickness ; its crow-stepped gable and one vast chimney 
studded with oyster-shells faced tlie street ; at each corner was 
a square corbelled turret, from the tops of which, in wet 
weather, two stone spouts disgorged the rain-v/ater without 
mercy on the passengers. To the street, the windows were 
few, small, and, according to the Scottish custom, secured with 
rusty iron gratings. The first and second stories were vaulted 
with solid stone, and stone slabs covered the roof. Externally 
the edifice was destitute of ornament ; but strong as rock, it 
would have withstood a salvo of cannon-balls ; and was one of 
the most perfect specimens of the old Scottish house existing, 
before the introduction of the more florid French style. Stud- 
ded with iron, the small door was deeply recessed in the wall, 
and protected by four loop-holes, splayed without and within, 
to admit of a wide range for arrows or arquebuses ; while it was 
further secured by a transverse beam of oak, which superseded 
all necessity for locks or bolts. 

A fortnight had now elapsed since the night on which the 
earl and his sister had been carried off; yet in all that time 
Redhall had been totally incapable of prosecuting his schemes 
either of love or vengeance ; for that fortunate sword thrust 
which he had received from the hand of Vipont, together with 
the fever produced by his own furious and boiling passions, had 
bound him down to a sick bed, from which, however, by the 
care or quackery of the learned John of Silvermills, he was now 
fast recovering. 


THE king’s advocate, 


159 


^ Pale, care-worn, and feverish in aspect, a day in the begin- 
ning ot June saw him again seated at his writing table, im- 
mersed in his masses of correspondence, his mysterious port- 
folios, which were full of strange memorandums in ciphers and 
Latin contractions, which none could read save himself and the 
cardinal. His trusty rascal Birrel, who was always at hand, 
and ready for everything, from cleaning his master’s boots to 
cleaving his enemies’ heads with a Jethart staff, was in attend- 
ance as usual, when our acquaintance of the preceding chapter 
was announced, and Birrel, starting from Sir Adam’s chair, 
where he had been in close confab, drew back the arras. 

“ God save you. Sir Adam Otterburn,” said the learned John, 
stroking his long beard according to his invariable custom ; 
“ how — again at thy pen, despite mine earnest injunction ?” 

“ Business of the State — fiend take it ! I must attend now, 
for a mountain of matter hath accumulated here.” 

“ Ah,” said the physician, setting down his sand-glass and 
fixing his keen eyes thereon, while his bony fingers were ap- 
plied to the pulse of Redhall’s left hand — “ Ah ! thy pulse is 
very irregular — thy nerves are burning. Now nothing affects 
the nerves so much as intense thought, and by thine eyes I see 
thou hast been thinking intensely. By this, the vital motions 
are hurt, the functions disordered, the whole frame unhinged. 
Thou must continue to take my potion night and morning.” 

“ What ! more of th} diabolical drench ?” 

“ How, Sir Adam ! Dost thou so defame my prescription, 
which I have compounded from the identical recipe left by 
that worshipful clerk, John of Gaddesden, the worthy authoi 
of the ‘ Rosa Anglica,’ the possessor of that valuable necklace 
which when drawn tight cured all manner of fits ?” 

“ Ah, my friend, Sanders Screw hath another which doth the 
very same.” 

“ Indeed ! thou amazest me,” said the physician, resting his 
bearded chin on his staff. “John of Gaddesden’s collar was an 
anodyne necklace, and had the word abracadabra written 
thereon.” 

“ But the collar of Carle Sanders is only a stout cord,” said 
the advocate, with a sardonic grin. 

“ I blush. Sir Adam, that thou shouldst name this vile worm 
.n the same breath with John of Gaddesden,” said the phy- 
sician, indignantly, as he arose and grasped his sand-glass ; “ a 
man whose virtues shone bright as the rays of Acarnan — th€ 
star of Eridanus. Ah ! he was a fortunate man. that John ol 


160 


JANE 8ETON *, OR, 


Gaddesden ; ne was born when Astroarch, queen of the plan- 
ets, was shining in all her glory in Abdevinam — the head of 
the twelfth mansion ; while I, unhappy ! was born, as I have 
discovered by the aid of my new astrolabe, on a night ot 
storms.” 

“ Thou hast brought back my poniard, I hope ?” 

“ It is here,” replied the visitor, taking a dagger from his 
belt ; “ the contents of this cause death within two hours after 
they are taken,” 

“ Two hours ?” 

“He who imbibes them,” he continued, in a low voice, 
“ falleth down senseless, lifeless, and dies without a groan — sud- 
denly as if shot with a hand-gun. Sir Michael Scott had this 
secret of a learned clerk at Salamanca, whither he rode in one 
night, and ere daybreak was again at his castle of Balwearie.” 

“ There is a powder, too — zounds ! I had well nigh forgot it : 

‘ the sleeping powder.’ ” 

“’Tis here,” replied the physician, taking a packet from the 
pocket that hung at his girdle ; “ this was first prepared for a 
caliph of the East, by Geber, the learned Arabian astrologer, 
who flourished in the eighth century, and whose three works 
on chemistry were published at Strasbourjof seventeen years affo, 
that is, in 1520 .” 

“ Hand it hither : thou weariest me ; for, by St. Grisel ! all 
thy messes seem to be compounded by devils and philoso- 
phers.” 

“ Thou still appliest my JJnguentum Armarium .^” 

“ Regularly,” replied the advocate, resuming impatiently the 
writing at which he had been interrupted. 

“ And thy wound ?” 

“ Is almost closed, thank God I” 

“ Good — good,” muttered the physician to himself ; “ I knew 
well that my ointment, compounded of the ashes of that writ- 
ten charm, brayed with those of the dried Zusalzef of the Ara- 
bians, would cure the deadliest wound ; ’tis a potent fruit, for 
it ripens in the sun, and the sun acts upon the heart, the source 
of life.” 

“ I would fain see some of this wonderful fruit.” 

“ I have one in my pouch — behold !” 

“ ’S life ! ’tis but a common prune !” 

“Thejomne of the unlettered, is the Zusalzef of Geber and 
Paracelsus ; but farewell. Sir Adam, I go ; and omit not to con 
tinue the potion and the JJnguentum ArmariumJ 


THE king’s advocate. 


ICl 


“ Devil go with thee, for a plague,” muttered the advocate,^ 
as he seemingly bowed with courtesy, and became again im- 
mersed in his writing. 

Nichol Birrel again approached. 

“ And this was all thou hadst to tell me ?” said Redhall ; 
“ that no tidings had arrived from Douglasdale ; and that, 
in short, neither Vipont nor young Balquhan had come to 
blows with any of the Douglas faction.” 

“ Exactly sae, my lord.” 

“ And that they spent their time in hunting and hawking 
with free quartering for horse and man, wherever it pleased 
them to halt.” 

“ Just sae,” replied Birrel with an obsequious nod. 

“ Thou knowest the lands of my kinsman, Fleming of the 
Cairntable, whose bounds they are approaching ?” 

“ Yes, my lord.” 

“ Then take a good horse, and ride for your life and death ; 
and take with thee these three-hundred groats of the fleur-de- 
lys to pay thy way. Tell my kinsman, Fleming, that I wish 
this viper, this Vipont I mean, should take up his last abode in 
Douglasdale.” 

“ In the kirkyard thereof?” 

“ Yes, yes ; set them by the ears if thou canst ; I will see 
Fleming skaithless, even though he resists the royal banner ; 
but either by fair means or foul, keep Vipont from returning 
here. Dost thou see this poniard which the apothegar has just 
left ? Observe me, and observe narrowly.” 

He unscrewed the pommel, and showed Birrel that the steel 
knob, which was hollow, (;ontained several large red grains. 

“Each of these grains,” said he, carefully rescrewing it, “is 
a human life ; there are ten^ and Sir Roland Vipont hath but 
one life ; take it m thy belt to Douglasdale, for they may prove 
useful if the blade fails. One word ere thou goest : how is the 
Lady Seton this morning ?” 

“Composed and quiet, as weel she may be, after the girning 
and graning of a fortnight.” 

“ Tib, thy niece, Tib Trotter, from Redhall, still attends her 
with care, W Dobbie keeps watch ?” 

“ Like a deerhound, my lord ; and I forewarned Tib that the 
lady she was to attend was a puir demented and brainbraised 
creature, that would tell her a’ kind o’ queer stories about you. 
Sir Adam — stories o’ whilk, on peril of her life, she was to tak 
nae heed: and I said that dtath would be as nothing to hei 
11 


162 


JANE seton; or, 


doom, if the daft lady (whom I call a kinswoman of your ain^ 
frae the north countrie) fled ; and as puir Tib is mair frightened 
for vou than for the devil himself, she scarcely sleeps tor fear 
that her charge escapes.” 

“ And Dobbie ?” 

“ Considers her a State prisoner awaiting a private precog- 
nition.” 

“ Good — I will ere long requite this trust, and amply too ; 
riicantime, away thou for Doiiglasdale : remember all my 
instructions ; and now give me thy thumb on them, that thou 
wilt be for ever my firm man and true.” 

“Sir Adam! Sir Adam!” said the pricker presenting his 
thumb reproachfully, “ surely this was na’ needed frae me.” 

But the cautious baron ratified their despicable compact by 
that mysterious pressure of thumbs, without which no bargain 
ill Scotland, either for good or for evil, was ever held bind- 

During this conversation, Redhall had never ceased writing 
with the utmost rapidity, that he might lose no time ; but the 
moment that Birrel retired to prepare for his embassy, he 
closed his portfolio, and stepped into the little dressing closet 
which opened oft' the study or library. 

He examined his face with scrupulous accuracy, and a fop- 
pishness at which he smiled, as if in contempt of himself. 
With some concern he observed, that confinement and his 
wound had rendered his features paler and more haggard than 
ever. That wound ! every time he thought of it, and of the 
blood, the pain, and anxiety it had cost him, he ground his 
teeth vengefully; but after arranging his long dark hair, and 
carefully pointing and perfuming his handsome beard \nd 
moustachios, he concluded there were many worse looking men 
in the city. Although his nether man was cased in sad-colour- 
ed hosen, he put on a full skirted doublet of blue velvet, with 
loose hanging sleeves and a bi'oad rolling collar of ermine ; he 
wore diamond-studded rufts at his wrists, a vest with sleeves 
of cloth of gold, and the collar of his shirt, which was pinched 
and embroidered with red silk and gold thread, was spread over 
the ermine. His sword was sheathed in crimson velvet, his 
poniard sparkled with jewels, and he was perfuned to excess, 
for it was the fashion of the age. 

Tall and stately, pale and dark, his aspect was alike magni 
ficent and impressive ; as thus deliberately prepared with a top- 
per}’ of which he could not have believed himself capable, he 


THE KING S ADVOCATE. 


163 


took his way for the first time toward the chamber of his fair 
prisoner. 

He telt that his step was feeble as he walked ; the room swam 
around him ; and ever and anon an admonitory twinge shot 
through his wounded shoulder. 


CHAPTER XXHI. 

THE FIRST VISIT. 

** Ah ! false and cruel fortune ! foul despite ! 

While others triumph, I am drown’d in woe. 

And can it be that I such treasure slight ? 

And can I then my weary life forego ? 

No ! let me die ; ’twere happiness above 
A longer life, if I must cease to love.” 

Orlando Furioso. 

Sunk in an abyss of deep and gloomy thoughts, Jane Seton sat 
at a window of the apartment which had been allotted to her, 
until Sir Adam Otterburn could have her removed to his house 
of Redhall, a strong square tower, situated on an eminence 
near the village of Hailes, a few miles south-west of Edin- 
burgh. 

This he intended to have done the moment he was able to 
ride ; and nothing but his wound — “ that accursed wound,” as 
he called it — prevented the removal of the lady and her bro- 
ther, on the very day succeeding their capture, to this lonely 
fortlet, which stood among thick woodlands above the Leith, 
and just where a modern mansion occupies the site of that 
more ancient Redhall which the soldiers of General Monk 
besieged and destroyed. 

A stupid but good-natured country girl from his barony — 
one who stood in dread of Sir Adam, regarding him as a demi- 
god and superior being, rather than a mere man and master — • 
attended Jane ; and, considering her a poor deranged lady, had 
been most provokingly sympathetic, and inaccessible to bribes, 
to threats and entreaties ; while Dobbie, like a w’atchful bull- 
dog, sat always in a niche near the door, with a small barrel 
of ale to solace him, and a pack of cards, with which he prac 
tised tricks and sleight-of-hand against himself. 


164 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


The walls were of enormous thickness, and the small win- 
dows were massively barred ; the apartment was hung with 
rich cream-coloured arras, studded with gorgeous red flowers ; 
the cornices, the chairs, the panelling of the doors and shutters 
were all profusely gilded ; a ghittern, an embroidery frame, a 
few black-letter books of poetry and romance, and a few vellum 
illuminations of Scripture, with various other things which 
might serve to wile away a lady’s time, were scattered on the 
buflets and window-seats ; while several boxes of the most 
splendid jewels which the art of Master Mossraan could pro- 
duce, stood most alluringly on the table, with their lids open, 
but all unnoticed. 

The window at which Jane sat faced the south, but the line 
of venerable chestnut-trees obstructed the view of the Craigs 
and of St. Leonard’s Hill. A grass-park, some hundred yards 
in length, extended to the wall, which these trees overhung, 
together with a mass of ivy and wild roses. Ruined and 
deserted houses lay on the right and left; and thus, for four- 
teen days, had the poor girl sat at that window, without an 
hour’s cessation, watching for a passenger to whom she might 
cry for succour ; but though the chamber was lofty, the height 
of the surrounding wall, the thickness of the trees, and the 
loneliness of the path which passed under them, had prevented 
her from seeing a single person, '(though several passed that 
way daily,) save the girl who attended her, and occasional 
glimpses of the indefatigable Dobbie, on guard outside ; neither 

whom could afford, even to her most piteous entreaties, a 
single word concerning the fate of her brother ; why she was 
thus confined; or what had become of Sir Roland Vipont, for 
whose silence and inertness she could in no way account, unless 
that he was in a state prison for the wound which she under- 
stood he had given Redhall, whose consequent illness had agree- 
ably accounted to her for his absence. 

On the table lay fourteen notes, being those he had sent 
every morning, containing compliments, condolences, and 
entreaties to be forgiven for that rash act, to which the excess 
of his love, and the feverish dread of losing her, his hopes that 
she might yet learn to esteem him, and so forth, had driven 
him ; but of these laborious epistles not one had been read, and 
the fourteen lay on the table unopened. 

These fourteen days had soothed the first burst of Her grief 
and anger ; intense weariness and bitter impatience had suc- 
ceeded : yet she could not but acknowledge that in all, save thii 


THE king’s advocate. 1G5 

loss of liberty, she was treated with the utmost delicacy, atten^ 
tion, and respect. 

It was evening now — the evening of the fourteenth weary 
day, as she was reckoning, for the thousandth time, on her lin- 
gers; the sun was setting on the flinty brows of Salisbury; and 
the leaves of the trees, as they fluttered in the wind, seemed 
formed alternately of green and gold. A mass of verdure over- 
hung the walls which surrounded the tall old mansion, the cold 
dewy shadow of which fell far to the south and eastward. 
Haggard in aspect, wearied with weeping, and though the 
month was June, benumbed by cold and want of rest, Jane, 
who for these fourteen days and nights had never dared to 
undress, or to avail herself of the luxurious couch provided for 
her, and who had never dared to sleep, save by snatches in an 
arm-chair, now turned with a wild, startled, and almost fierce 
expression of inquiry to Sir Adam Otterburn, as he entered ; for 
never was there a face more admirably calculated to express the 
two very opposite aspects of mildness and disdain than hers. 

“ Proud, relentless, and pitiless woman !” thought this bold 
abductor, as he approached, “ at last I have thee completely in 
my power — at my mercy, utterly !” 

Lady Jane had arisen full of anger and defiance, but there 
was an expression in the eyes of her admirer that terrified her ; 
and feeling completely (as he had thought) at his mercy, she 
^ould only cling to her chair, and falter out — 

“ Oh, my God ! Sir Adam Otterburn, what is the meaning of 
all this ? — why am I imprisoned here ? — and what seek you 
from me ?” 

“ Pardon,” said he, in his gentlest voice, and with clasped 
hands, bending his eyes on the ground — “ pardon for this wrong, 
which the excess of love alone has committed.” 

“ And why hast thou dared to do me this wrong ?” 

“ I dare do anything, fair Jane, but excite your displeasure. 
For heaven’s sake be composed. Oh, spare me your hatred, 
and look not so wildly. Think of the depth and of the ardour 
of my sentiments — the sincerity of my intentions towards you. 
Long, long have I borne this fatal love in my heart, as a secret 
— a secret to brood over, since those days when you so thought 
lessly permitted me to nourish it.” Jane would have spoken, 
but he continued, sadly and energetically : “ Amid the splendid 
pageants, the costly banquets, the stately mummeries of a court, 
and the dull tedium of public business, it has ever been in ' my 
heart, in my soul, and on my lips — this secret, which I wouk 


166 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


have given the vi^orld to muse over in some noiseless solitude, 
where nothing would dispel the bright illusions love raised 
within me. Ever among the crowds of the city, and the debates 
of the parliament, it came to me — a soft, low whisper ot your 
name. I heard it only ; and the voices of those around me 
became as a drowsy hum, and sounded as if afar ofl, for my 
whole soul was with thee. Oh, Lady Jane, this secret has been 
a part of my very being. Night after night I have prayed for 
you, and have laid my head on its pillow without consolation ; 
day after day I have blessed you, on awaking to a world that 
was without hope for me, and yet I have lived, and loved, and 
lingered on. But pardon me — I am grieving you.” 

He paused on seeing that Jane, overcome either by her feel- 
mgs or by exhaustion, had again sunk into a chair. Her alarm 
subsided at the sound of his sad, solemn, and harmonious voice ; 
and something of pity rose in her bosom, for she saw that he 
was indeed frightfully pale and careworn. 

“ My' brother,” said she ; “ and what hast thou dared to d 
with him ?” 

“ Nothing, dear madam : he is safe.” 

“ But where ?” 

“Below us.” 

“Below? Gracious me!” said Jane, breathlessly, as her 
horror and hatred revived ; for she saw the cruel game about 
to be played by Redhall. “ Wretch 1 and to coerce the misera- 
ble sister, thou boldest in thy guilty hands the life and death 
of the brother !” 

“Nay, do not think me so base; warrants are out for the 
apprehension of the earl as a traitor, and nowhere is he safe save 
in the secresy of this abode, which, however, both you and he will 
soon change for the sunnier atmosphere of my country tower at 
Redhall.” 

Lady Jane’s anger at the coolness with which this was inti- 
mated, prevented her making an immediate reply; but she 
looked all she felt, yet only for a time ; there was again in the 
black eyes of Sir Adam that magnetic — that almost supeihu- 
man glance, which terrified her. She thought of her mother’s 
legends of the “ Evil Eye ;” and unable to sustain the powerful 
gaze of this remarkable man, she paused, and her eyelids 
drooped, to be raised again with hesitation ; for the basilisk ex- 
pression of his eyes was no less singular than the melodious 
tone of his soft and modulated voice was pleasing and subduing 
Lady Jane Seton, you cannot have forgotten our last meet 


THE KING’S ADVOCATE. 


107 


aig, and the interview to which I referred at Holyr>^od ; that 
.nterview which occurred now nearly a long year ago, in the 
garden of the abbot. Do you still remember that soft moon- 
light night, and the tenor of our conversation — a conversation, 
to me, so full of hope, of joy, of tumult, and of giddy expecta- 
tion. Ah, you did not then repel me with eyes of proud dis- 
dain, or words of studied scorn. That night, whenever I spoke, 
you were all earnestness, all smiles, and all attention.” 

“ Because, Sir Adam, — and I call heaven to be my witness, 
— I knew not that your words meant more than the mere gal- 
lantry of a well-bred man when conversing with a pretty 
woman.” 

“ This is mere coquetry,” said he, emphatically ; “ but since 
that night I have been a dotard — a fool — the moon-gazing 
slave of an illusion. My God ! on that night I could not believe 
in the excess of my joy, when I thought you were permitting 
me to love you : nor have I since been able to realize the full 
extent of my misery and suspense. Oh, I have been as one in 
a dream — a long and fearful dream ; for in a dream we feel so 
much more acutely than when awake !” He paused ; and, 
clasping his hands, continued again : 

“ Listen ! I have a high office in the kingdom ; my power 
is nearly equal to that of his eminence the cardinal. I am the 
grand inquisitor of the state, and the interrogator, the ques- 
tioner, the torturer of all alleged criminals. I may throw the 
highest in the land into a dungeon, with or without a charge, if 
it suits my purpose or my fancy so to do ; and I have at all 
times the ear of the king and his chancellor. Ponder over this, 
dear lady, for thou art the daughter of a fallen race. I have a 
noble estate, which ere long will be erected into an earldom ” 

“ On the ruin of my gallant brother’s — hah !” 

“ On the ruin of none : but won honourably.” 

“ I despise all earldoms that are not won as my forefathers’ 
were, by the sword.” 

“ There spoke thy mother’s haughty spirit, lady, and I love 
it well ; but if thou didst know, fully and sorrowfully as I do, 
the irreparable destruction which hovers over thee and thine — 
a destruction which I alone can avert — thou wouldst listen to 
mv sad, my earnest, my honourable proposal, with more of 
Datience, and less, perhaps, of petulance and pride.” 

“ And I say unto thee, Adam Otterburn of Redhall, that if 
thou knewest the horror and repugnance with which a virtuous 
woman — one whose heart, in all its first freshness and the fii’sl 


168 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


flush of its feeling, is wholly with another — listens to the accents 
of love from any but the chosen of that heart, thou wouldst 
know what I endure in hearing these laboured addresses of 
thine.” 

Stung to the very soul by this studied reply, which was alike 
calculated to kindle his jealousy and ext inguish his liopes, the 
face of that dark and stern man assumed a white and ghastly 
expression ; his basilisk eye again terrified lier, and she shrunk 
within herself. 

“ Impossible !” said he, as he grasped her arm, and a deadly 
smile curled his thin but finely-formed lips ; “ it is impossible 
that you, so pure in mind, so high in spirit, so accomplished 
and refined, can love this fop, this fool — this mere soldier, of 
whom you know so little. Your love for him is a mere childish 
fantasy, of which you are the victim. Ever brawling and fight- 
ing, this harebrained cut-throat will probably never return from 
Douglasdale, whither he has marched on the king’s service ; 
but doubtless you think that this gay cavalier, this Vipont, with 
his tall plume and gilt armour, would make a ir uch more ro- 
mantic spouse than your most humble and raor( matter of fact 
6erviteur.” 

Jane heard only one part of this rude sneer — that which in- 
formed her Roland was gone to Douglasdale. She felt consoled ; 
his absence was thus accounted for. 

“Ah, my gallant Vipont!” said she, unable to resist the 
ardour his name kindled within her, and the temptation to sting 
his enemy ; “ hadst thou been in Edinburgh, I had long since 
been free, avenged, and at my mother’s side.” 

“ ’Tis time to put an end to this folly,” said Redhall, gnashing 
his teeth. “ Listen ! Thy mother’s side ? Thy mother is a 
prisoner in the castle of Inchkeith ; there in ward, under Hamil- 
ton of Barncleugh, charged with treason, and resetting the traitor 
her son.” 

“ My mother 1 oh, my poor mother 1” faltered Jane, clasping 
her hands. 

“ The same warrant included the arrest of you, lady, and of 
the unfortunate earl your brother; but the people deem that 
thou and he are fled. But better were thou and he in thy grave, 
than living to encounter all that fate has in store for you on fall- 
ing into the hands of that government to which I can surrender 
you both in an hour 1” 

“ My brother— "who will dare to touch my brave brother ?” 

“ Who ?” replie4 Redhall, with one of those cutting smile* 


THE king’s advocate. 


169 


W’liich sometimes exasperated even his best friends ; “ the worthy 
gentleman who handled him so roughly a few nights ago.” 

“ And what awaits him ?” 

“ Can you ask me ? The dungeon of the castle — the high 
court ot parliament — the solemn sentence —the ignominioua 
scattold — the spiked head — the blighted name, and the torn 

banner ; yet each and all of these I can avert, if — if ” 

“ What ?” 

‘‘ Thou wilt only try to love me !’ 

Horrible ! love thee ? Oh, this is mere iiisanity !” 

“ I, who have done, can undo. I will restore him to his power 
at court, his coronet, his castles and his baronies, to his seat in 
parliament, his offices of great cupbearer tc the king and go- 
vernor of Blackness ; I will restore him to the world, to rank, to 
honour, yea, to life itself, I may say, for it is doubly forfeited, 
if thou wilt but love me. Thy mother, old, infirm, and broker 
in spirit by grief, by shame, and wounded pride, I will take 
from that lonely island prison, where she is < xposed to so many 
severe degradations and privations, from the damp mists of the 
German Sea, and man}'- other miseries that old age cannot long 
endure, and will restore her to her wonted place, as mistress of the 
household and first lady of the court, if thou wilt but love me. 
A hundred gallant knights of her father’s house, with the groat 
Angus himself, shall be restored, to place, to power, to home, 
to happiness, and to honour, and the Harniltons of Arran shall 
be subverted and exiled to Cadyow and Kinniel, even though I 
should unroll my own banner against them, if thou wilt only 
permit me to love thee in return. Still no reply ! Think, lady, 
think of all I say, for these things are well worth pondering 
over. All these may be done by a word, but withhold that word, 
and they shall remain undone. Dost thou hear me, lady ?” 

“ Yes ; I have heard that thou who hast done can undo P' 

“And thine answer?” 

“ Is — that I despise and abhor thee, from whom my kinsmen 
of Seton and Douglas have endured so much ;” and she turned 
haughtily away. 

“ Be it so,” said he, calmly but sternly. “ Then, let banish- 
ment and proscription, the headsman’s axe and the doomster’s 
hand, hang over the lords and barons, the knights and adher- 
ents of Ashkirk and of Angus; let infamy and vengeance, 
destruction and death, dog them close, since thou hast aban- 
doned them — thou who by a word could have saved them all. 
They are each but as puppets in my hands — puppets whose 


170 


JANB seton; or. 


destiny I may lengthen or shorten as I choose, fo^ the string* 
of their fate are in my power, and I will be merciless to them, 
as thou,^ane Seton, hast been this day to me !” 

Jane trembled, and her heart swelled as if it would have 
burst ; for she knew too bitterly the truth of all Sir Adam said, 
and she felt that, hated and blood-stained, cool, calculating, and 
detestable, as this man was, she could have sacrificed herself to 
his insane passion to save her mother, her brother, her family 
and kinsmen — for kindred blood was then a sacred tie in Scot- 
land — but for Roland. 

“ Oh, Vipont ! Vipont !” she sobbed, and buried her face in 
her hands ; “ my heart is sorely tempted to abandon thee — but 
in vain !” 

Then Redhall, lest he might say more to widen the gulf 
between them, and with lover-like indecision repenting even 
what he had said, retired abruptly, and left her bathed in tears, 
and with a bosom full of the most clamorous anxiety and 
alarm, not for herself, but for her mother and the earl. To 
know that the former was a captive in the castle of the Inch, 
and that she, her only daughter, was not beside her to soothe 
and console her grief and pride ; that her brother, too, was 
separated from her only by a stone wall ; and that they were 
both prisoners in the midst of a dense population — but a few 
feet from a busy street, where so many strong hands and stout 
hearts might easily be summoned to their rescue — prisoners in 
the hands of one so deep and stern in purpose, so relentless in 
his vengeance, as Redhall, — caused her the most complicated 
emotions of agony and dread. 

For the thousandth time she examined the bolted door, the 
tapestried walls, and the grated windows, for a means of escape, 
but found them all as before ; and then, after once more failing 
by the offer of all her rings and brooches to overcome the 
inflexible integrity of Tib Trotter, hopeless and despairing, she 
knelt down to pray and to weep. 

“ Come hither, Tib,” said Redhall to this niece of his trusty 
henchman, as he retired ; “ the young lady, my kinswoman, is, 
1 fear, seriously indisposed ; put this powder in her milk posset 
to-night ; but on peril of thy life neither allow her to see nor 
know aught of it.” ' 

With a low curtsey, and a downcast glance of the deepest 
respect, Tib received the little packet, and Redhall hurried back 
to his writing chamber and portfolios. 


THK kino’s ADVOCAPK. 


171 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE KNIFE. 


“ Cunning is a cr-'oked weapon , and nothing is more hurtful than when cunning 
4iea pass for wise.” 

Bacon. 

The Earl of Ashkirk occupied an apartment immediately 
t)elow that of his sister ; but one which was certainly of a very 
different aspect and description. 

After their capture, it was not until daylight broke that he 
discovered he was only in the strong house of Redhall, scarcely 
a hundred yards from his own gate, and not (as he had first 
supposed) either in the towers of the castle, or the Tolbooth of 
the city. In the scuffle preceding his capture, he had been so 
severely handled, as to become insensible ; thus, on sense re- 
turning, he found, that though the infamous gag (the thought 
of which made his fierce blood boil with wrath and shame) had 
been removed, as well as the cords which had secured his 
hands, his mouth had been severely cut by the iron tongue of 
the former, and his wrists were swollen and livid by the merci- 
less application of the latter. 

The capture of his sister by Redhall, and the certainty that 
she too was confined in the same mansion among the trained 
minions and obsequious vassals of this arch conspirator, suffi- 
ciently informed him that his ancient enemy had some ulterior 
motive, which he could not at that time fathom. Daring as he 
was and courageous to a fault, the first thoughts of the young 
earl were those of terror for his sister, and some little concern 
for himself. He now saw and regretted, unavailingly regretted, 
his rashness and folly in venturing within the walls of Edinburgh 
at such a time, when the tidings of his recent raid on the bor- 
ders were fresh in the minds of the people ; and still more did 
he deplore his second folly, in continuing to abide there, as if 
in defiance of suspicion and of fate : thus selfishly compromis- 
ing the safety of his dearest friends as well as his own. 

“ I must have been mad, and Vipont was worse than mad to 
permit me ! Let me sleep if I can,” thought he, “ fresh ener- 
gies will come with slumber ; and I, who have escaped from 
English Norham, and from thri castle of Stirling, too, where 


172 


JANE seton; or, 


once old Barncleugh had me fast in the Douglas chamber, will 
Burely find a passage from this house — or the devil’s in it ! — 
and adieu my plans of vengeance for a time.” 

And thus, acting upon principle, the light-hearted young 
noble, whose bold heart had never known either fear or despair, 
lay down on the stone floor of his prison, closed his eyes, and 
courted sleep as if nothing had happened ; and sleep came ; but 
his slumbers were a mere nightmare, so full were they of hideous 
dreams, bufiets, and combats ; and, more than once he started 
with the certainty that he had heard his sister’s cry. 

“Bah !” said he, “ let me sleep. She is her mother’s daugh- 
ter, and hath too much of Black Douglas and the devil in her, 
to endure insult from such a poor hang-dog as Redhall ! Be- 
sides, if he dared to ” and he felt a gleam pass over his 

eyes in the dark, at the idea that occurred to him. 

At an early hour, Lord Ashkirk awoke, and proceeded at 
once to the examination of his prison. The walls and arched 
roof were of massive and unplastered stone; the floor was 
paved ; the window and the chimney were grated ; while the 
door, which he sounded with his hand, seemed a mass as solid 
as could be formed of oak planks and iron bolts. 

“ Ten devils !” thought he ; “ at Norham I had the tongue of 
a waist buckle, and at Stirling a spur of steel ; but here are 
neither buckle nor spur, knife nor nail, to loosen a stone or saw 
a stanchel.” 

Between the trees he could see the rising sun gilding the top 
of Arthur’s Seat. The solitary window, which was little more 
than ten inches square, was crossed by three bars built into the 
stone ; he saw with satisfaction that it was only about fifteen 
feet from the ground, for his chamber was on the second vaulted 
story. 

“ Good !” said he ; “ this wall is not like the rock of Stirling ; 
but there I stole the cord of the flag-staft'.” 

He heard all the bells of the city ringing for morning prayer : 
and these sounds of life without made him feel, for the first time, 
some anger and impatience at the vigorous restraint imposed 
upon him. An hour after this, although he had not heard the 
approach of footsteps (so thick and so closely jointed were the 
walls that encompassed him), the door of his vault was un- 
locked, and a sturdy fellow, with a Jethart axe, secured to his 
wrist by a thong, in case of accidents, entered, bearing a pewter 
basin of water, a towel, <fec., for the performance of the morning 
ablutions. The moment he entered, a door at the further end 


THE king’s advocate. 


17S 


of the passage was closed and locked ; thus securing him, as 
well as the prisoner, of whose name and rank he appeared igno- 
rant ; for with these the politic Redhall had acquainted only 
his favourite, Birrel, and one or two more on whom he could 
implicitly rely. 

Prolonging his toilet to the utmost extent, the earl scrutinized 
the visage of his attendant, who was a strongly-built fellow, 
about five-and-twenty years of age, with a rough red beard, and 
whiskers that grew up to his high cheek bones, on each of 
which a bright red spot was visible. He wore his bonnet 
drawn over his shaggy brows, and his eyes, though of a pale 
grey, betokened a native sharpness over which the earl saw at 
once he would be able to achieve very little. 

“ Well, fellow,” said he, “ art thou appointed to attend 
me ?” 

“ Aye, sir.” 

“ Then what is thy name, for I must know it ?” 

“ What would ye be the better of knowing ?” he asked, cau 
tiously. 

“ V ery much ; as we may see each other often ; but, doubt 
less thou art ashamed of it.” 

“ Ashamed o’ my name ? Deil choke sic impudence. No, 
faith ! It is as glide as your ain, and better, maybe. My 
name is Tam Trotter, and I am forester up bye at Kinleith, 
where my father (God rest him !) was forester before me, though 
folk did ca’ him uncanny.” 

“Well, friend Tam, couldst get me a razor, in addition to 
this splendid toilette apparatus ? I have a fancy for shaving off 
my beard this morning.” 

“Aha!” laughed Tam, with a knowing Scots wink, as he 
seated himself on the table, with his Jed wood axe under his 
arm ; “ I can see as far into a millstone as you, my quick gen- 
tleman ; so keep on your beard, it will be a warm ruff for you 
in the winter nights.” 

“ Winter nights ! What the devil dost thou tell me ? Thy 
master cannot think of keeping me here till the winter nights 
come on.” 

“No here, maybe, but out at Redhall. This morning I rode 
in with ten braw fellows, with axe and spear, to take ye ou^ 
there to the auld tower ; but lo ! his lordship, our master, came 
home not an hour syne, wi’ his doublet drookit in bluid, and>^ 
body run through by ” 

“ By whom ? — by whom ?” cried the earl. 


174 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ The master of the king’s ordnance, who (everybody says) 
is a fast friend of the Lord Ashkirk ; but, God’s death ! if ever 
the one or the other come under my hands — if I can just get 
one canny cloure at them — neither will ever need another !’' 
and, setting his teeth, the fellow assumed an aspect of ferocity, 
and hewed a large piece off the table with his sharp-bladed 
axe. 

“Friend Tam, thou seemest very savage and bloodthirsty,” 
said the earl, in his bantering tone ; “ but I must request thee 
to restrain thy troublesome vivacity, and not so damage my 
furniture, the stock of which is somewhat limited. Ha ! ha ! 
and so Vipont hath pinked thy master ? — and where ?” 

“ Here — just in the shoulder ; but it seems braw news for 
you,” replied Trotter, sulkily. 

“The thrust is not near the heart, I hope?” said the earl, 
almost leaping with joy ; “ not near his amiable heart — oh, do 
not say so — I shall quite expire if thou tellest me that !” 

“ Devil take me, if I ken what to make o’ you,” said Tam, 
with a face half comical and half angry ; “ for, by my faith, you 
are a queer chield !” 

“ And thou art a good-hearted fellow ?” 

“My mother aye says sae, though she bangs me wi’ the 
Deetle, for being fonder o’ porridge than plowing in the morn- 
ing.” 

“ So his mother beats him ?” muttered the earl ; “ good ! — ■ 
the fellow is a mere simpleton.” 

“ Is he ?” rejoined Trotter, closing one eye, with his tongue 
in his cheek, and kicking his iron heels together ; “ try me, and 
you will see if I am sic a simpleton ?” 

“ Excuse me, friend Trotter ; by simpleton, I merely mean 
one who is neither subtle nor abstruse — nor steeped in guilt, 
like the rascal, thy master.” 

“ The rascal, my master, hath you nicely under his thumb, 
however,” grinned Trotter; “and a civil tongue, sir, would be 
baith advisable and becoming — a’ things considered.” 

“ Well, let us not quarrel. Thou seest this ring — ’tis worth 
three hundred gold crowns of James III.; and it will be thine, 
if thou tellest me all thou knowest about the lady who was 
brought here last night.” 

“ Weel — give me the ring, sir.” 

“’Tis a carbuncle,' my friend, that once gleamed on the hand 
of a gallant earl.” 

“ And it is mine, for all I ken — eh ?” said Thomas, contera* 


THE king’s advocate. 


175 


plating the jewel on the top of one of his great fingers with a 
leer of satisfaction ; “ the carbumple wad be a bonny die for 
Else’ Gair ; and ’tis mine, for a’ I ken i’ 

“ Yes — yes.” 

“Then a’ I ken just amounts to nothing,” said Tam, with a 
laugh ; “ so I might cheat you if I chose ; but, though a puir 
chiold (and a simpleton too), I would despise mysel’ if I took 
your ring — so tak’ it back, sir ” 

“Nay, nay, fellow, I cannot accept it again.” 

“ Weel, it may lie there on the table, for I winna touch it. 
Men would say, if I took it, that I had betrayed my master.” 

“ True,” said the earl, as he replaced the jewel ; “ but I will 
be in thy debt three hundred Scottish crowns. And now let 
me have breakfast ; for no vexation was ever so great that it 
deprived me of my appetite.” 

Cold beef, bread, cheese, eggs, fish, and spiced ale, formed a 
repast which greatly comforted the earl, who saw with regret, 
however, how scrupulously the single knife that was allowed 
him was watched and removed by the careful Trotter. But the 
moment this meal was over, and his attendant had withdrawn, 
he recommenced a most minute examination of his prison, and 
was gradually forced to acknowledge, with a sigh of bitterness, 
that though neither so strong as Norham, nor so loftily situated 
as Stirling, its capabilities for escape were very limited indeed. 

Several days passed monotonously away. 

The earl became horribly impatient ; he had shaken every 
window-bar for the hundredth time ; and for the hundredth 
time also, with the heel of his boot, had sounded every slab of 
the pavement, and every stone of the walls, but all were solid 
as a mass of rock. 

“Friend Thomas,” said he, half banteringly and half 
savagely, on the thirteenth day of his confinement, “ how long 
does that prince of villains, thy master, mean to keep me 
here ?” 

“ As long as he pleases, I suppose.” 

“ A vague term, that — most unpleasantly so. I should like 
much to have been a little consulted in the matter ; but as he 
omitted this politeness, I mean to escape on the first opportu- 
nity, and without formality.” 

“ Escape ?” reiterated Trotter, with a grin. 

“ The walls ” 

“ Are six feet thick, and the window hath three ]>ars, ilk ane 
like the shaft of my Jethart staff.” 


176 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ Yes ; but' some day I may pull out the stones of the wall, 
or saw through the bars of the window. Have you never heard 
of such things?” 

“ Aye have I, when a man had saws, or files, or hammers, 
but never when he had only his bare hands and nails.” 

“ I will steal a knife from you.” 

“ Will you ?” said Trotter, with his knowing wink. 

“ Thou shalt see ; and once through the window, I will drop 

“ Into the draw-well ! Ha ! ha ! my bauld buckie, the 
draw-well, forty feet deep, is just below it.” 

“What? Just under my window ?” 

“ Right doon, as a plummet would sink.” 

“ Ah, the devil ! What a judicious villain thy master is !” 

“ You see, sir, that unless you could change yourseP into a 
spider or a bumbee, here you maun just byde,” replied Tam, 
with a loud laugh, which galled the earl to the soul ; but seeing 
the futility of anger or hauteur, he controlled his rising temper, 
and said, in his usual manner — 

“ Well, let me have dinner ; for assuredly I ani weary of 
having nothing to look forward to, but from breakfast to din- 
ner, at mid-day ; from dinner to supper, at even ; and from 
supper to bed — and so on. I assure you, friend Trotter, it 
would tire even a Carthusian.” 

“ And tiresome I find it, too ! Cocksnails ! I would gie my 
very lugs to be again kicking my heels owre Currie Brig, or 
Kinleith Craig, for I am wearied o’ holding watch and waid 
here, like the javellour of a tolbooth or the warder of a 
tower.” 

As Trotter returned with the dinner upon a broad wooden 
tray, which usually held the platters, covers, and one smal' 
knife, the earl contrived to place his chair in such a manner, 
that the attendant was tripped by it, and stumbled forward, by 
which the manchet, or small loaf (in those days the invariable 
substitute for potatoes), slipped from the tray, and fell upon the 
floor. While Trotter, after depositing the tray, stooped to pick 
up the manchet, the earl, like lightning, possessed himself of 
the knife, and thrust it up his sleeve. 

“ Look again, friend Trotter,” said he, removing the first 
cover, “thou hast dropped the knife, I think?” 

“Have I?” said Trotter, searching all round the tablci 
“Surely no !” 

“ You must have done so, for I vow ’tis not here.” 


THE king’s advocate, lY? 

“ I could have sworn it was on the trencherboard, when I 
brought it in,” said the fellow, gaping with alarm. 

“If you think so, look again.” 

“ By Saint Giles ! there is nae knife here !” 

“ Then quick, call for another, or these dainty pullets \sill be 
cold as pebble-stones.” 

Trotrer turned to call for another knife ; and the moment he 
did so, the earl stepped back, and concealed that which he had 
secured in a nook of the chimney, which had been discovered 
during a previous inspection. 

A second knife was brought by Dobbie, who had heard Trot- 
ter call for it. 

The earl made an unusually good repast, and as he picked 
the pullet’s bones, and drank his pint of Bordeaux, he jested 
merrily with his attendant, who leant against the door, from 
whence he cast ever and anon furtive and uneasy glances below 
the table, in search of the missing article, for he had his own 
suspicions. 

“ Take care, my trusty Tam, take care ; for now I have got 
* that knife, and I mean to make a good use of it on the 
first oppportunity. Tridy thou art a simple fellow, and will be 
beetled by Redhall, in such wise as thy mother never beetled 
thee! ha! ha! Zounds! dost thou think this paltry house 
would hold me, who escaped from the Douglas room at Stirling, 
where the cardinal confined me after the battle of Linlithgow ? 
I trow not ! Be easy ; compose thyself, friend Thomas, for I 
assure thee I have got the knife, and will begone to-morrow.” 

“ In your pockets ?” said Tam, advancing. 

“ Pockets ! Nay, dost thou think a gentleman has pockets 
in his breeches and doublet to hold bread and cheese, like a ras- 
cally clown ; but come hither, thou mayest feel my garments.” 

Trotter passed his hands over the breeches and doublet of 
the prisoner. 

“ Tlie devil a knife is here,” said he, perfectly reassured. 

“ Nevertheless, I have it.” 

“Where?” 

“ In my stomach. Bring me a sword, or lend me thy pom 
ard, and I will swallow them both also. It runs in the family 
I had an uncle who could digest cannon balls.” 

Tam utteied another of his hoarse laughs, and, bearing away 
the wooden tray, retired, and secured the double doors a. 
usual. 


12 


178 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


Next morning, at the early but accustomed hour, he undid 
the accumulated bolts and locks of the inner doorway (while 
Dobbie secured the outer), and entered, with breakfast on the 
trencher. 

A cry burst from him, and he started back aghast on finding 
the place void, for one glance sufficed to show that it was 
empty. 

The earl was indeed gone ! 

“ Ah, the knife /” thought Trotter, as he rushed to the win- 
dow. Every bar was in its place, and the undisturbed cobwebs 
of years were still woven between them. Not a fiag of the 
floor, not a stone of the wall, appeared to have been displaced ; 
and, terrified by such a phenomenon, Tam Trotter uttered a 
stentorian howl of dismay, and fled from the empty chamber. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

DOUGLASDALE. 


“ But you, dear scenes ! that far away 

Expand beneath these mountains blue., 

Where fancy sheds a purer ray, 

And robes the fields in richer hue, — 

A softer voice in every gale, 

I ’mid your woodlands wild should hear ; 

And Death’s unbreathing shades would fail 
To sigh their murmurs in mine ear.” 

Leyden. 


The sun of a morning in June shone brightly upon Douglas- 
dale, as a valley of the middle ward of Lanarkshire is named 
— the country of the puissant Douglasses. The pure air, the 
bright sunshine, the fresh meadows, the fragrant wind that 
stole along the uplands, were all indicative of that delightful 
season when the trees are heavy with their richest foliage, and 
the voices of the mavis, the merle, and the w’ood pigeon, are 
heard within their deep recesses. Under golden masses of the 
dark green broom, the white hawthorn, and the wild rose, the 
Douglas water stole, over its pebbled bed, towards the west. 

Hot and cloudless, the rays of the glorious summer sun 
poured over the giant summit of the Cairntable, and played 
along the pastoral glens below, to be reflected by the gleam of 
arms and the glitter of armour descending from those heights 


THE king’s advocate. 


179 


which overlook the towers of the Douglasses — the “Castle 
Dangerous ” of chivalry and romance. 

The lairds and warders of the various towers which overhung 
the valley, were all on the alert, and had barred their gates, 
drawn up their bridges, and prepared their armour, with not the 
less care, because they could perceive the royal standard with 
the red lion waving above the copsewood below. 

With their swords sheathed and visors up, Roland Vipont 
and Louis Leslie rode together at the head of their little column, 
which had passed a peaceful campaign of nearly three weeks 
in Lanarkshire, without being molested by any one; and of 
course without hearing tidings of the Earl of Ashkirk, for whom, 
as in duty bound, they made the most minute inquiries — Roland 
being the more rigid in his search, because he believed him to 
be in safe concealment at Edinburgh. The horses of the artil- 
lery looked sleek and well fed ; and the cannoneers, with Les- 
lie’s hundred men of the guard, had all their harness and 
arq'uebusses as bright as on that day when they marched from 
Holy rood. 

“ ’ Slife ! but we spend our time wearily ! Will nobody fight 
with us ?” said Roland, with a yawn, as they wound down the 
valley, by the banks of the Douglas. “ St. Mary ! I feel a 
violent inclination to maul some of those towers, that from 
every rock and hill-top look down so saucily on our line of 
march.” 

“ What ? — the houses of thy Douglas friends ?” 

“ Assuredly.” 

“ And why ?” 

“Just to keep us in practice ; and because they are held by 
Hamiltons.” 

“ Lucky it is, for us, that they are so. Long before this, had 
the Douglasses possessed the same power in Lanarkshire that 
they did ten years ago, we had been eaten up.” 

“True, in 1527, a hundred men, with two pieces of cannon, 
.f they had once ventured into the middle ward on such an 
errand as ours, had never come out of it again.” 

“ Yet ’tis very hard that no one will just fire one little shot 
at us, just to afford an excuse ” 

“ For blowing the house about their ears. A most amiable 
wish !” ^ . 

“ Thy nag looks weary, Leslie.” 

“ Ah, ’tis a bay I picked up, during our raid against the 
Annandale thieves last year. My blockhead of a groom lost 


180 


JANE seton; or, 


me a beautiful roan horse, at Leith, last Lammastide, where I 
sent it to be bathed, at sunset, in the sea.” ^ 

“ Where dost think we will dine, for ray stomach crieth cup- 
board already ?” 

“ At the Barmkyn of Cairntable. I have heard that the 
^udeinan there keepeth open house and free ; besides, he is a 
kinsman of Kedhall, and if we empty his girnels and broach 
his casks, what matter ? Is it not for the king’s service ? and 
all Scotland knows,” added Roland, with a smile, “ how zealous 
the advocate is for the public weal.” 

“ Let us halt here for one moment,” said Leslie, reining up 
his horse, beside a little rustic well, which flowed near a cot- 
tage wall ; “ this water looks fresh and pure ; ’tis south-running, 
too, and I am thirsty as a sack of flour.” 

“ Linstock, bring hither the flask of French brandy.” 

From a gun-carriage, Lintstock unslung a large leathern bot- 
tle, and brought it to his master, ogling it by the way with all 
the ardour of which his solitary eye was capable ; and thereafter, 
from his havresack, he produced a beechwood luggie. 

“ Gudewife,” said Leslie, to a woman, who was grinding corn 
in a wooden quern, at the cottage door, and who wore one 
of those pointed Flemish caps which had been introduced into 
Scotland by Mary of Gueldres, “ how name you this well ?” 

“ Sanct Bryde’s of Douglas,” replied the woman, briefly and 
sulkily, for she was one of that hostile race. 

“ A consecrated well ? I thought so — ’tis fortunate you 
asked,” said Roland; and, after first dipping their fingers in 
the fountain, they crossed themselves, and then mixing the 
blessed water with the brandy, took each a draught, and gave 
a third to Lintstock. 

“ Hallo !” cried Roland, to a horseman, who came up at a 
rough trot, and whose grey plaid, blue bonnet, and white Gal- 
loway doublet, as well as his gambadoes, or riding boots of 
rough calfskin, declared him a plain countryman ; “ a good day, 
friend. Wilt thou have a tass of brandy ?” 

“God keep you, my captain — wi’ mony gude thanks,’' 
replied the horseman, pulling up his nag, which was a strong 
Flanders mare. “ Health to ye baith, sirs,” said he pulling his 
bonnet well forward, instead of raising it, as he nodded to each 
knight, and drained the vessel. “ By my faith, but that’s braw 
Btuftd” 

* A superstitions custom, suppressed by order of St. Cuthbert’s kirk 
session, in 1647. 


THE king’s advocate. 


181 


“ Ay, I daresay. ’ Tis not often the burnt wine of Languedoc 
n^is over thy Lanarkshire throat,” said Roland, laughing; 
“ dost thou travel our way ?” 

“ Sir knicht, that just depends upon which way yours may 
be,” replied the fellow, drily, drawing his plaid well over his face. 

“ We are going to the Barmkyn of Oairntable,” said Roland, 
looking keenly at him under his helmet. 

“ And so am I, sir.” 

“Well, thy nag seems fresh, and thou art not as we are, 
cased in armour ; so ride fast, I pray you, and inform the gude- 
man of the Barmkyn that a party of the king’s soldiers will 
halt there about dinner-time — say a hundred men, or so — and 
that we will thank the gudewife to look well to her larder and 
kitchen ” 

“ To kill the fatted calf, and set her best casks a-broach,’^ 
said Leslie, laughing. 

“ To select the hens that roost next the cock — the most deli- 
cate pullets ” 

“ To examine the eel-arks — ha ! ha !” 

“ To prepare the most dainty pasties, and highly seasoned 
patties — ha ! ha ! ha !” continued Roland, in the same merry 
tone ; “ for as both gudewife and gudeman are friends of the 
good and amiable lord advocate, they cannot but rejoice to 
make welcome those who come among them on the king’s 
service.” 

“ And in whose name shall I give the message ?” 

“ In the name of Sir Roland Vipont, master of the ord- 
nance.” 

“ Without fail,” replied the horseman, putting spurs to his 
nag, and galloping off ; “ but may the devil ryve the saul out 
of thee (and me too), if thou gettest not a reception as warm 
as auld Bauldy Fleming can give thee !” added Nichol the 
brodder, for the stranger was no other than he. 

“ That fellow’s laugh bespeaks him a rascal,” said Leslie, 
who had been narrowly observing all that could be seen of 
Birrel’s face ; “ how different it was from the broad grin of an 
honest yeoman.” 

“ Dost think so ?” said Roland, looking after him as he gal- 
loped over an adjacent brae, and disappeared ; “ dost thou 
think he will play us false after our kindness ?” 

“ No, perhaps — but the committal of thy message to a stran- 
ger in these times, and in this place, is, to say the least of it, 
rather unwary. We might be entrapped and cut off'.” 


182 


JA.NE 8ET0N ; OR, 


“ A hundred chosen soldiers, with two pieces of cannon — 
bah ! I should like to see any one attempt it, Leslie. We 
should sell our lives dearly ; and yet my mind misgives me 
sorely, that it was for no other purpose, that subtle villain Bed- 
hall sent so small a force into this wild and hostile district.” 

“ Eh, gentle sirs ! Gude guide us, your horses are eating a’ 
my corn !” cried the cottager, running to her quern, which she 
had left for a moment ; “ shoo ! shoo ! awa’ wi’ ye !” 

“ Well, thou old devil,” said Leslie, “ may not soldiers’ 
horses eat what they like ?” 

Boland threw a few pence into the quern ; and then, both 
putting spurs to their horses, hurried after their soldiers, who 
were now some distance in advance. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE BARMKVN OF CAIRNTABLE. 

“ Dark grew the sky, the wind was still, 

The sun in blood arose ; 

But oh ! how many a gallant man 
Ne’er saw that evening close !” 

Hooo. 

A FEW hours’ march among the knolls and hollows, which 
exhibited here and there a solitary square tower, or an old 
thatched sheep farm, shaded by ash trees, and nestling on the 
holm land of the strath through which the Douglas winds, 
brought the soldiers of Vipont to the base of the Cairntable, a 
beautiful green mountain, sixteen hundred feet in height. One 
half was darkly rounded into shadow, on the other shone the 
bright splendour of the meridian sun, which lit up all the 
windings of the various little pastoral glens, through which the 
Peniel, the Glespin, the Kinnox, and other mountain tributaries, 
flowed to feed the Douglas at its base. 

On a small spot of table land, a shoulder of the hill, and 
sheltered by its giant ridge from the south-west wind, which 
usually prevails there, stood the fortified grange, or barmkyn 
of Baldwin Fleming. 

Boasting of his lineal descent from Theobald le hleming, 
who is said to have j)Ossessed all that country before the rise 


THE kino’s advocate. 


183 


of the Douglasses, and their gradual acquisition of the whole 
district, this sturdy retainer of the encroaching Lords of Angus, 
though neither laird nor lesser baron, but merely a goodman, 
who held his feu of a feudal chief, and followed his banner in 
battle, had procured (through the good offices of his kinsman 
Redhall), a crown charter, empoweiing him to fortify his farm, 
which he had done with a strength that made it second only 
to Castle Douglas, and the envy of all the fierce' barons in that 
warlike district. 

This vast building formed an exact square, and had four 
square towers on each of its four faces. These were all strongly 
vaulted for holding grain, while the great yard within served 
for securing cattle. The twelve towers, and the curtain walls 
between them, were battlemented on the top, studded with 
loopholes below, and all strongly, though roughly, built with 
stone quarried from the adjacent rocks. 

The most perfect example of a similar edifice now in Scot- 
land, is the fortified grange of Sir John Seton of Barns, which 
crowns a height southward of Haddington, where its ruined 
towers resemble the remains of an ancient city, from their 
strength and extent. 

Within the barmkyn, on one side, stood the strong and sub- 
stantial, but thatched, dwelling of the farmer ; along the other 
three sides were barns, stables, and houses for his men. At a 
certain distance round the wffiole, a deep ditch was drawn ; the 
margin was used as a kitchen garden, and was stocked with 
common potherbs, and a few small fruit trees, sheltered by 
boortree hedges and stockades. 

The bridge was up ; and opposite the gate stood a clump of 
large oak trees ; and on a branch of one, which was conspi- 
cuous for its size and foliage, the dead body of a man was 
hanging by the neck, with the gleds flying about it. 

“ Oho 1” said Roland, as a turn of the glen brought him 
suddenly in view of this goodly farm ; “ so the goodman of 
this grange hath a power of pit and gallows ! His oaks bear 
other fruit than acorns.” 

“ A peasant rascal !” replied Leslie ; “ and yet he tieth a 
tassel to his tree, like the best feudal lord in the land.” 

While approaching this formidable edifice, they had heard 
the distant blowing of bugle-horns, the springing of wooden 
-attles, and the incessant jangle of a large bell. These notes 
of alarm, together with the appearance of armed horsemen, 
galloping in various directions over the green hill sides 


184 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


lessened the surprise of Vipont and his soldiers, when, on 
coming in view of the grange of Cairntable, they saw the 
whole line of its walls glistening with pike heads and glittering 
with steol caps ; while a scarlet banner, bearing the chevron 
of the Flemings within its flowering and counterflowering of 
fleurs-de-lys, was unfurled in defiance ; for (thanks to the cun- 
ning and amiable intentions of Nichol Birrel) such was the 
dinner prepared by the sturdy proprietor for his unwelcome 
visitors. 

What the tenor of Birrel’s falsehoods and misinformation 
may have been, we have now no means of ascertaining ; but they 
were such, that the guderaan had all his horses secured in 
stall ; his vast herds of cattle in their pens, his stacks of grain 
stowed away in vault and barn ; while all the men over whom 
he had authority, to the number of three hundred, with their 
families, were in garrison, and stood to their arms, with the 
intention of resolutely obeying his orders, whatever they 
might be. 

A brownie, in the shape of a little rough man, with a broad 
bonnet and long beard, attended the family of Fleming. He 
rocked the cradles of the infants, and performed various othei 
kind and domestic services ; especially foddering the horse? 
and cattle, sweeping the kitchen floor, and filling the water- 
stoups for the servant girls ; all of which self-imposed duties 
were performed by this goodnatured imp in the night, for the 
brownie was a being unseen by day ; and to propitiate him, a 
libation of milk and wort were nightly poured into a rude 
font in the yard, called the hroonie's stane — for in those days 
every thrifty housewife set apart a portion of food for the 
brownie, that his favour and protection, as well as his future 
services, might be thereby ensured. If a piece of money were 
left, an eldritch yell announced that the insulted brownie had 
found it, and fled in resentment — for from that moment he 
invariably abandoned the family and for ever. This familiar, 
and usually amiable spirit, with which Scottish superstition 
furnished the household of every old race, was pacific, generous, 
and unwearying in his services ; but if once otfended, im- 
placable in his revenge. 

On the night preceding this eventful day, the brownie of 
Cairntable had been heard to utter the most doleful lamenta 
tions, and “ the wee manikin witli his lang beard and braid 
bannet,” had been seen (as several of the servitors averred) to 
pass round the towers of the barmkyn, wringing his hands and 


THE king’s advocate. 


181 


weeping piteously, which had caused the guderaan to look well 
to his defences, and to his horses and armour. Thus in two 
hours after the arrival of his kinsman’s follower, Nichol Birrel, 
everything was in fighting order within the grange when the 
king’s troops approached it. 

“ Halt !” cried Roland Vipont. 

“ By my faith,” said Leslie, “ we shall have no dinner hero 
to-day, which I regret exceedingly, as this hath all the aspect 
and reputation of being an exceedingly well stocked grange.” 

“ There is some mistake here. They surely have not seen 
the royal standard,” said Vipont, angrily, as he shaded his eyes 
with his hand, which was cased in a glove of steel. 

“ Ah ! you wished for some fighting !” 

“Just now I wish most for dinner; and so, Balquhan, ride 
thou forward with a white flag, and make open door for us.” 

“ Dost think I am another St. Colm, to make bolts unbar and 
doors open, by simply signing the cross ?” 

“No; but by threatening them with cannon shot.” 

Leslie tied a white handkerchief to the point of his long 
sword, and galloped fearlessly forward to the edge of the ditch, 
from whence he could distinctly see the grim faces that, from 
under battered morions, peered at him between the embrasures 
of the wall above; while from the deep-mouthed loopholes 
below, peeped forth the keen pike-heads, and the iron muzzle 
of many an arquebuse and pistol. 

“ Art thou the gudeman of the Cairntable ?” asked Leslie of 
a stout man of great stature, whose polished coat of mail 
betokened a superiority over the others around him. 

“ At your service, my braw gallant,” he replied, bending over 
the tower ; “ but what may your errand be here ?” 

“To learn wherefore ye receive the king’s soldiers in this 
fashion, with closed gates, and your helmets on ?” 

“ Gif gaft' makes gude friends,” replied the other, surlily ; 
“ but I trow, gif gaff shall make you none here ; so, in God’s 
name, pass on in peace. Here ilka man must just ride the ford 
as he finds it.” 

“ Dost think we will burn thy house after it hath lodged us, 
poor devil ?” said Leslie, with a lofty and patronizing air. 

The buirdly farmer laughed hoarsely, as he looked to the 
right and left along the strong walls, which were lined by so 
many tall fellows in helmets and breast-plates. 

“ Away, away !” said he, waving his gauntleted hand ; “ what 
brings ye frae Holyrood to this puir sheep country ? It’s a gay 


18 « 


JANE seton; or, 


place that Holyrood ! Ah, there are plenty of vacant prioriea 
lay abbacies, captainries of castles, and other braw perquisites 
to be picked up there; so I marvel mickle that you left so plea- 
sant a climate, to come here among the spirit-broken and 
impoverished Douglasses, and the fogs o’ the Cairntable, where 
there’s nothing but rocks, whinstones, and cold iron to be 
had.” 

“ Then you will not lower your bridge, and afford free 
entrance to the king’s soldiers.” 

“ If a’ the fiends of hell came, I carena a brass bodle so away 
wi’ ye, or ye may fare the worse. Tell thy captain my name is 
Baldwin the Fleming — as good a man as he.” 

“ Peasant hound, thou shalt rue this dearly !” replied Leslie, 
who was about to turn away, when he perceived the rascal 
whom they had met at Saint Bryde’s Well levelling an arque 
buse full at him, from a loophole ; and he had just time to 
make his horse rear, so that the ball, which would have pierced 
his own breast, entered that of the poor animal, which snorted 
and plunged wildly. Escaping, however, several other balls 
which whistled past him, Leslie forced it back at full speed to 
the side of Roland, where it fell down, and was dead, almost 
ere the rider could disengage himself from the stirrups. 

“To your arquebuses, Leslie,” exclaimed Roland, “while I 
shall unbend my cannon. Ah, white livered cowards!” he 
added, shaking his clenched hand towards the hostile grange, “I 
will maul you sorely for this defiance ! Soldiers ! they are all 
traitors to the king, for they have fired on his royal standard. 
To your guns, my brave cannoniers — to your linstocks, and 
unlimber! Quick! and make me good service against this 
contumacious villain and his foolish knaves.” 

While the cannon were wheeled round, the tumbrils cast oflf, 
the magazines opened, and powder and snot taken therefrom ; 
and while the cannoniers commenced pointing and charging 
them home, Leslie formed his hundred arquebusiers behind a 
knoll, where they fixed their rests into the turf, and opened a 
fire as close and rapid as it was possible for soldiers to main- 
tain with these cumbrous fire-arms, which carried balls of two, 
and even three ounces ; which were loaded by means of a pow- 
der-horn ; were levelled over forks ; and were fired by means of 
a matchlock. The reports were loud and deep, and the rocks 
of the Cairntable repealed them with a thousand reverberations. 
White as snow, the smoke of arqiiebuse and pistolette broke 
(but at long intervals) from the strung dark walls of the grange. 


THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


187 


And their balls tore up the soft turf, as they fell among the little 
band of besiegers, or whistled over their heads ; for so well 
were they posted, that during two hours of incessant firing, not 
one was ever touched. 

“ Batter me down the entrance gate !” cried Roland to his 
gunners ; “ ’tis easier to punch holes in an oak plank than 
a stone rampart ; so down with it, my brave cannoniers — for 
this night we will carry the place by assault, or die in its 
ditches !” 

• “ Art thou quite prepared for that ?” asked Leslie. 

“ A true soldier is prepared for everything,” replied the elated 
Vipont ; “ let us only have yonder gate beaten down by day- 
light, and, with my sword for a wand, I will act your gentleman 
usher when night falls.” 

The cannon were carefully levelled and pointed ; fire flashed 
from their muzzles ; smoke curled up in the sunshine ; and their 
reports rang like thunder among the windings of the Douglas. 
One shot crashed through the massive gate, beating a large hole 
in it ; the other struck the battlements, and threw down a heap 
of masonry, which fell, amid a cloud of dust, into the ditch 
below. Hereupon, high words ensued between old Lintstock 
and the lance-spesade, whose thumb was placed upon the vent 
of the culverin, which he was reloading. 

“ It ill becomes a gle’ed gunner like you,” Roland heard him 
say, “ to heed me less than an auld pair o’ boots ; but lang 
enough before you saw the blessed light o’ day, I had levelled 
everything like a cannon, frae a quarter Moyenne up to auld 
Monce Meg herself ; and here now, I will wager you a stoup o’ 
Bourdeaux, that my next shot will go straight to the keyhole.” 

“ Done !” replied the lance-spesade ; “ twa stoups if you like 
— and here is my thumb on’t.” 

The lance-spesade levelled the culverin ; applied his right 
eye to three sides of the breech, carefully adjusted the quoins, 
and fired. The ball struck a coat of arms above the gate, and 
threw a cloud of splinters around it in every direction. 

“ She throws high,” said the soldier, throwing down his 
match, discomfited. 

Lintstock gi’inned as he reloaded, and thereafter applied his 
single orb to the breech and quoins, looking carefully along the 
polished brass gun. At that moment the ball of a falconet 
came whizz from the barmkyn, and was splintered on its muz- 
zle ; but the cool old soldier, whose brains had so narrowly 
escaped being dashed out by it, neither winced, nor appeared 


188 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


tlie least disturbed in his aim ; but took one pace to the left, 
stretched out his right hand with the match, and in his turn 
fired. Then, where the dark keyhole of the ponderous gate 
had been but a moment before, a large round breach was visi- 
ble, with the sunshine streaming through it. Upon this, a 
shout arose within the barmkyn, and the shrill cries of women 
and children were distinctly heard. 

“Well done, my true cannonier!” said Roland. “A few 
more of these bitter almonds, and the gudeman of the Cairnta- 
ble will be forced to afford us open house, whether he will or 
not. To thy cannon again, my old Lintstock ; for thou hast 
but one eye — Saint Mary ! ’tis the eye of a gazehound. Aim 
well with your cannon and arquebuses, my gallant comrades — 
aim well, and level low ! There are many good things in yon- 
der walls, all of which are yours by the law of war. How 
now, my bold Balquhan — art thou shot?” he asked, on seeing 
Leslie reel. 

“ As surely as if with an elf-arrow,” replied the lieutenant, 
whose left arm had been wounded by the ball of a hand gun 
which had beaten his armour into the orifice, and caused him 
excessive pain ; “ but it matters not — four of my best men are 
lyin^ stiff enough, among the broom now.” 

“ Zounds ! this night’s lodgings is likely to cost us dear ! — 
but, ’fore God, I will make it dearer to the rascal who hold> 
yonder barmkyn against us.” 

With his scarf, Roland bound up Leslie’s arm; and havinp 
decided on his tactics, commanded the arquebusiers to cease 
firing ; to lie down close under the brow of a knoll, and to 
reserve their arms and matches for service at night. Mean- 
while, the culverins incessantly battered the barmkyn, the gate 
of which, by the time that the setting sun reddened the wild 
summit of Cairntable, was beaten down, with a great part of 
the wall, thus affording an open passage into the heart of the 
place. 

“ Thank Heaven, the night will be cloudy and dark !” said 
Roland, looking at the sky ; “ so, by day dawn, 1 will show 
thee, Balquhan, the Red Lion waving where the chevron of 
Fleming floats upon yonder barmkyn. A thousand thanks, my 
brave cannoiiiers — and chiefly thou, old Lintstock, for a troop 
of knights might ride abreast through yonder breach.” 

“ True ; but thou forgettest the ditch,” said Leslie. 

“ Nay ; I have bethought me of that, too.” 

Black and gloomy the night came on ; a high wind growleo 


THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


189 


along the valley ; and with the deepening obscurity, it seemed as 
if the brawl of the Douglas over its stony bed became louder ; 
for its rush was heard distinctly amid the dark and dewy hills, 
from which it descended into that lonely and pastoral strath 
through which it winds. 

Pale and sharp as a spear-head, a horn of the new moon 
appeared at times above the black outline of the Cairntable ; 
and when old Lintstock saw it, he carefully took out his purse 
(which, however, contained only four of James the Third’s black 
farthings), and, having turned it over thrice, wished himself 
good luck, according to a Scottish superstition existing unto 
the present day. 

When the gloom had deepened, so that nothing could be dis- 
cerned of the barmkyn but its bold outline and sable towers, stand- 
ing on a shoulder of the mountain, Roland ordered the arque- 
busiers to pile their arms, and to tear down the roof and plank- 
ing of an old barn that stood near ; and thereafter to bind some 
ten or fifteen of the rafters together with ropes of straw, so that, 
being laid close together, they should (with the assistance of a 
few planks) form a temporary bridge, or passage, across the 
foss j of the barmkyn, the breadth of which, with military exact- 
ness, he had measured with his eye. 

Two hours sufficed for this, and, about midnight, he prepared 
to assault the place, resolving to chastise the gudeman severely 
for his resistance. Notwithstanding his wound, the gallant 
Leslie insisted on accompanying him, and, armed with a Jethart 
staff, Lintstock left the cannoneers to follow his master. 

As the arquebusiers approached in close order, the glow of 
fheir lighted matches must have announced their approacdi, for, 
though all was still in the barmkyn (save the incessant lowing 
of the cattle in their pens), the moment they were within range, 
a storm of missiles was poured upon them. Arquebuse and 
pistolette, hacque, dague and iron-drake, flashed redly upon the 
darkness of the night, and many an arrow, and many a bullet, 
whistled among the close ranks of the Guard. Several fell, 
killed or wounded ; but the rest pressed forward bravely, and 
Roland, with his helmet closed, and sword in hand, led 
them on. 

Thick and fast fell bolt and bullet, and the hearty shouts of 
the little band of storraers were soon lost in the roar of tumul- 
tuous sounds that arose within the barmkyn ; for the cries of 
Fleming’s followers and kinsmen, as they animated each other 
at loophole and battlement, the shrieks of their wives and daugh- 


190 


JANE SETON , OR, 


ters, the lowing of the cattle, the barking of dogs, and the 
ceaseless ringing of a large alarum bell, added to the incessant 
explosion of firearms, made a united din, that gave a strange 
horror to a scene which had no other lamps to light its dan- 
gers than the flashes of those deadly weapons which shot foi th 
their contents from every nook and angle of the strong dark 
walls. 

“ Down with the posts and planks ! Quick: — quick !” cried 
Roland, through his helmet. “ Close your ranks, and now again 
to your arquebuses ! Fire, and club them ! Club them, and 
on — on, for Vipont and the King !” 

This rude substitute for a bridge was laid, and the ditch crossed, 
in less time than we have taken to relate it. Shoulder to 
shoulder, in the gap of the gate and drawbridge, stood a close 
array of pikemen ; but, being somewhat less accustomed to 
arms than the soldiers of the Guard, they were thrown into 
immediate confusion by a volley from the arquebuses, which 
were instantly clubbed against them for close combat. 

“ Forward ! forward !” cried Roland, hewing a passage with 
his sword, and shredding down the pike heads like ears of 
w'heat ; his strength, stature, weight of arm, and admirable coat 
of mail, rendering him invulnerable, like a knight of romance. 

In the court of the barmkyn, and just within the gate, a close 
and terrible conflict ensued in the dark ; for there the sturdy 
farmer met the assailants in person, at the head of his hynds 
and followers, all cased in iron, cuirassed and barbed to the 
teeth. 

A powerful man, of vast bulk and height, Fleming w^as suffi- 
ciently formidable, without his other accessories of a coat of 
mail of the fifteenth century, jagged with twelve iron beaks, 
and one of those enormous iron-studded mauls, which were 
used in Scotland until the battle of Pinkey, where they proved 
perfectly futile against the Spanish and German hackbuttiers, 
were the main means of winning that battle for the English. 
The giant was giving all around him to death and destruction ; 
three soldiers, the best men of the Guard, had fallen before 
him ; for, by three separate blows, their brains and casques had 
been crushed like ripe pumpkins, before Roland could reach 
him through the press; and, with no other sentiments in his 
heart than those of rage, the blind and clamorous longing to 
avenge and to destroy that is sure to arise in one’s heart at 
such a time, he fell furiously upon him. 

At this crisis Roland could perceive a man in a close helmet 


THE KING’S ADVOCATE. 


191 


who, armed with an arquebuse, kept close behind Fleming, and 
more than once fired in the most cowardly manner over his 
shoulder. One ball tore the cone of Roland’s helmet, and ano 
ther grazed his shoulder. 

“Notch me the head of that rascal with thine axe, Linb 
stock,” cried he ; “ and leave me to deal alone with this rough 
tilter.” 

Swaying his enormous maul like a giant warrior of the dark 
ages, Fleming made many a feint, before pouring forth all his 
strength and fury, by swinging his club from the back of his 
head in one sheer downward blow, that in a moment would 
have annihilated Vipont, had he not sprung nimbly back, and 
escaped it as well as another shot from the fellow with the 
arquebuse, who killed the lance-spesade, and so deprived Lint- 
stock of his stoup of Bourdeaux. But ere Fleming could reco- 
ver his guard, Roland darted forward, and by one tremendous 
lunge drove his long keen rapier through his body, just one 
inch below the corslet. Fleming fell instantly to the ground, 
and the soldiers pressed forward over him ; but as Roland 
passed, the tremendous grasp of the dying man was fastened 
on his foot, and he was dragged to the earth, where a furious 
struggle ensued between them. 

In the dark, Roland’s fall was unseen by his soldiers, who 
advanced fighting hand to hand into the heart of the barmkyn, 
driving before them the retainers of Baldwin Fleming. Groan- 
ing with rage and pain, and wallowing in his blood, the latter 
rolled over Roland, and retained him in a grasp which gathered 
fresh energy from the pangs of death, till it seemed to possess 
the power of an iron vice. One hand encircled his throat; 
the other grasped a poniard, with which he made in any a 
fruitless eftbrt to stab him to the heart. Five times he struck, 
and, glancing from the tempered corslet, five times the dagger 
sunk harmlessly into the ground. 

During this struggle there suddenly burst upon the darkness 
a broad and lurid gleam of light, that illuminated the whole 
arena of the barmkyn, its battered gate and ruined wall, its 
corpse-strewn court and striking architecture ; and then Roland 
could perceive the ghastly visage of that powerful foe who 
grasped him — powerful even in death, for sight had all but left 
his glazed and sunken eyes ; yet the vengeance of a demon 
seemed to burn in his despairing heart, and to add strength to 
his muscular gripe. In confusion and agony be had dropped 
his poniard, and now with both hands fie clutched Koland’i 


192 


JANE seton; or, 


tlxroat, and frantically endeavoured, by compressing his steel 
gorget, to strangle, since he had failed to stab him ; and with 
every futile effort, the hot fierce blood welled forth from his 
gaping wound and clammy mouth. 

Tighter and tighter grew that deadly clutch; the yielding 
steel compressed at last, and Roland felt his eyes starting, and 
his brain whirling, while a thousand lights began to dance before 
him. An icy terror, such as never had been there before, now 
thrilled through his heart ; he thought of Jane ; and made one 
superhuman effort to free himself and to shout for succour ; but 
both failed, and he thought that all was over now and for ever, 
when the gleam of light which shot through the barmkyn saved 
him. For a moment, attracted by this strange glow that flashec 
upon his sightless orbs, strong Fleming relaxed his iron grasp, 
and, fatally for himself, permitted Roland to respire. 

Bearing in cnind his master’s injunctions, Nichol Birrel had 
thrice taken a deadly aim at Roland, and thrice had failed, for 
his bullets slew other men, when his arquebuse was dashed 
aside by Lintstock’s Jethart axe. Then finding that he was not 
likely to achieve much by dint of arms, on observing the strange 
combat between Roland and Fleming in the gateway — a 
struggle which he alone had observed, a new idea occurred to 
him ; and, rushing to the summit of the walls, he cried : 

“ The kye ! the kye ! save your kye ! -or they will all become 
the pri?e aijd spulzie of the soldiers !” From the parapets he 
hrew down several enormous bundles of blazing straw among 
.he close-packed herds : already excited and terrified by the 
lin of the combat, and the report of the fire-arms, they were 
It once driven mad and furious by the descent of this burning 
shower, 

Like a living torrent they poured into the court, and rushed 
through the gateway ; in their flight and terror plunging and 
plloping, jostling, crushing, and goring each other with their 
horns, as they irresistibly swept all before them, trampling the 
lead and the wounded in the mire of their track. 

“St. Mary’s knot!” cried Lintstock, hewing at their heels 
with his Jethart axe; “hough and hamstring! tie their legs 
with St. Mary’s knot !” 

Five hundred head of infuriated cattle poured from the 
barmkyn into the dark glen below, where they spread over the 
mountains in all directions. 

Practised to such tactics in the Border war, the blaze of th« 
straw aud the wild lowing of the cattle instantly acquainted 


THE kino’s advocate. 


193 


Roland with what was to ensue; but unable to free iiimself 
from the Herculean grasp of Fleming, he suddenly clasped him 
m his arms. Then by one tremendous effort he dragged his 
body over himself, and there retained it as a shield from the 
forest of legs and hoofs that, rushing from the pen, like a 
living whirlwind, swept over them in hundreds for the space of 
five minutes; but long before the fifth of these minutes had 
passed, the nervous grasp of Fleming had relaxed, and his fierce 
spirit had ffed. Breathless, panting, and infuriated by the 
whole encounter, Roland Vipont rose from the gory mud and 
mire, regained his sword, and with a tottering gait and swim- 
1^ ming head looked around him for his followers. 

By this time the conflict was over, and his little band of 
brave soldiers had gained complete possession of the barmkyn, 
the whole surviving defenders of which had effected their 
escape by one of those subterranean sallyports with which 
every fortified house in Scotland was furnished, as a means of 
secret egress in the last extremity. 

The lance-spesade of the cannoneers and fifteen soldiers of 
the Guard are said to have been slain in the assault. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 
the pommel of the poniard. 


** He gained — he gained (why stops my story ?) then, 

A deadly opiate from the convent men, 

And bore it to his cave.” 

Marcian Colonna. 


“Now, blessed be Heaven and our own stout hands, we have 
made our quarters good here at last !” said Leslie, at that mo- 
ment approaching Vipont. “ How is this ? Zounds! thou cut- 
test a rare figure, all smeared in mud and mire. Art thou 
wounded ? No reply ? Vipont, Vipont, dost hear me ? why, 
thou art mute as a fish. But come with me to the hall, for I 
have discovered my way there, and what is better, a gallant 
demi-john of Rochelle, that w^ould gladden the hearts of ten 
friars ; one cup of it will set thee all right ; so come along, my 
lir^yriend.” 


194 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


Confused nnd stunned by his protracted struggle with Flein 
ing, and the whirlwind that had swept ovei’ theiii, Roland could 
B(;arcely articulate a word, and when he did speak, his voice 
was lost in the hollow of his helmet. 

Assisted by Leslie's arm, he ascended a stair to the hall of 
the barmkyn, where their entrance stilled, for a moment, the 
u})roar and rejoicing of their plundering and half-famished 
soldiers. 

Built in an age when the sole idea on which a Scottish house 
was constructed was the resistance of armed assaults, the walls 
of the barmkyn were of enormous thickness, and in the recesses 
of the deeply embayed windows were little square cupboards 
for holding household utensils. The vast fireplace contained 
two tall andirons, which, together with a great dinner-table, 
and a number of clumsy chairs and buflet stools, formed the 
sole furniture of the farmer’s hall. The strong and bare stone 
walls were as destitute of ornament as the roof, which rested 
on twenty-four round stone corbels, and was composed of 
twelve beams of oak, plainly boarded over, to form the floor 
ing of a vast hay-loft above. 

A fox’s face and horse-shoe were nailed above the door, to 
exclude witches ; while a cross of elder- tree twigs was fastened 
above the lintel as a charm against fascination, for the age was 
full of the wildest superstition. 

Torches had been lighted in the tin sconces which hung on 
the walls ; bread, beef, cheese, and every edible on which the 
soldiers could lay their hands, had been piled on the long 
table ; and, with their helmets off, some were crowding round 
the demi-johu of Rochelle which Leslie had mounted on a binn 
in the centre of the floor, while others hewed down doors and 
window-shutters with their swords, and lighting a fire, began 
to cook with all the eagerness of hungry men. Meantime, a 
guard and sentinels had been posted on the walls without, in 
case of a rally or surprise. 

On removing his helmet, and imbibing a draught of wine, 
Sir Roland was completely restored ; but he was too much ex 
asperated by the resistance of Fleming and the loss of life he 
had occasioned, to care a jot for the manner in which his gocda 
and gear were going to rack and ruin. 

“ Drink, my soldiers,” he exclaimed, as he seated himself on 
the table, that he might the more easily overlook the frolics and 
revelry, “ to your hearts’ content ; drink deep, for this is the 
wine of a false traitor ; but let drunkards beware of Uie trun- 


THE king’s advocate. 


19a 

cheoD that awaits them on the morrow. Liutstock! u Jk, 
Lintstock ! where are you, old iron head ?” 

“ Here, Sir Roland,” replied the veteran, who at that ’ajmenl 
entered the hall, dragging in a man whose head he wa > a.enac- 
iiig at every step with his Jethart axe, and at whom hi darted 
such scowls of wrath as he could concentrate into his soliiary eye, 

“ A prisoner !” 

Whom I found skulking there without, and whom I am 
ready to vow on the blessed Gospels, is tne loon who thrice 
levelled his arquebuss at you ; and by shooting puir Laurie, our 
lance-spesade, hath cheated me of a stoup of wine whilk I won 
lawfully,” he added, savagely shaking Nichol Birrel, who gave 
him a deep glance of hatred from his sullen eyes. 

“ It would seem to me, fellow,” said Roland, who still occu- 
pied his elevated seat on the edge of the table, and before 
whom the soldiers dragged Birrel, “ that I have seen thy face 
before. In the streets of Edinburgh, perhaps ?” he added, sternly 
scrutinizing that worthy, who, having been deprived of arms 
offensive and defensive, save a small-sword, appeared before 
them in the attire of a peasant. 

“Nay, I am but a puir sheep-farmer of Galloway, <%iid you 
never set eyes on me Wore, Sir Roland.” 

“ A lying varlet !” said Lintstock ; “ we wasted a gude tass 
o’ brandy on ye at St. Bryde’s Well.” 

“ Oho ! I remember thee, now,” said Roland, with a terrible 
frown. 

“ And so thou art the villain who shot my poor horse,” said 
Leslie. 

“ This is not the case,” replied the dogged ruffian, in some 
perturbation ; “ but even if it were so, should a brave soldier 
commit such acts to memory, Laird of Balquhan ?” 

“ Now, by the devil, my Galloway Scot, how earnest thou to 
know my name !” 

Birrel saw his mistake, and remained silent. 

“ Harkye !” said Lintstock again, “ are ye not the runion who 
drove all the cattle mad, and hounded them out upon the hills? 
where all the collies and dogs in Lanarkshire will never collect 
them again ; for mony a gude score hae tummelled owre the 
craigs of the Cairntable, and are drowned in the Douglas 
burn.” 

“ Oho, my friend,” said Roland, setting down his wine-cup, 
and gazing sternly on the brutal and bilious visage of his 
prisoner, every i witch of whose square mouth, and every glance 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


of whose twinkling eyes, indicated the mass of bad thoughts 
that festered in his heart, “the charges are coming thick and. 
last against thee ; so ’tis to thee we owe the loss of our lawful 
prize — those prime herds and fattened hirsels?” 

“Say rather to witchcraft; for ken ye, sir, that when I ar- 
rived here, three were found to be elfshot, and the rest were 
under spell ; for the gudeman Fleming was dropping upon their 
horns the blessed wax of a paschal candle, the half whereof is 
yet remaining ” 

“ In the penn ; he speaks the truth,” said Lintstock, “ for I 
saw it there mysel ; but sure as I am a living man, it w^as you 
who threw the blazing straw-wisps ower the parapets of the 
bartizan ” 

“ Well, rascal, and didst thou give my message to the bull- 
headed proprietor of this dwelling?” 

“ Yea, Sir Roland Vipont, by Heaven I did, word for word.” 

“ So thou knowest my name, too, eh ? (hold him fast, Lint- 
stock)— well ?” 

“ And he made me prisoner.” 

“ I verily believe, peasant, thou best; for the Laird of Balqu- 
han avers that he saw thee on the walls in armour.” 

“ True, for I armed me in my own defence.” 

“ Bat thou didst thrice try to shoot me, with an arquebuss, 
as Lintstock here is ready to swear.” 

“ Lintstock hath but one eye.” 

“ ’Tis gude as a dozen, d — n ye,” growled the old soldier. 

“ How the devil is it this fellow wears a sword like a French 
barber ?” said Leslie. 

“ Ay, how is this, thou, who art not a gentleman ?” 

“ I am travelling, and wear it for mine own security.” 

“ A cudgel would better become such a clown as thee ; but 
take it away, Lintstock, and keep it for thy pains. Now, fel- 
low, my mind misgiveth me sorely that thou art playing us a 
false trick ; but as for thy attempts upon my own life, I say 
let them pass ; being done under armour, and in close fray, it 
would ill becopie Roland Vipont to bear malice for such trifles 
— for trifles they are, to a man who feeds himself as I do — with 
the blade of his sword. Though, as thou knowest, man, I might 
hang thee from one of those beams, for resisting the kino-’s 
troops, who are empowered” (he added, with a covert smile^at 
Leslie), “ to search every stronghold in Douglasdale for the 
traitor, Ashkirk, I forgive thee, instead ; and, as 1 jvd and master 
of this barrakyn, for one night at least, by the laws of conquest 


THE king’s advocate. 


1 n 

ana appropriation, I say thou art welcome to a cup of wine, a 
slice from you savoury roast, and a seat by the fire till dawn, 
when may God 'speed thee to thy native Galloway, and keep us 
from again meeting under harness. I never bore malice to 
living man, for blow struck, or bullet shot, after the fray was 
over, and so bear none to thee. Now, fellow, what is thy 
name ?” 

“John — John Dargavel,” replied Birrel, cautiously. 

“ Then give me thy hand, John Dargavel, and here is mine,” 
replied Roland. 

Each kissed his right hand and presented it to the other. 

“ This is the generous frankness of a gallant soldier,” said 
Leslie, as Birrel slunk away ; “ but, I doubt me, ’tis sorely mis- 
placed, for that fellow hath the eye of a very ruffian. St. Mary ! 
1 could not have believed my haughty Vipont would have con- 
descended thus — even though a friar had sworn it.” 

“ The faggots of hell encompass thee !” muttered Birrel 
(uttering the favourite curse of those days,) as he overheard 
Leslie ; “ but I may, ere the morning, serve my lord and myself 
by avenging all this ! Praise God, I have still my poniard, 
witn ten lives in its pommel !” 

He drew near the great fire, and mingled with the soldiers, 
who were busy spitting strings of pullets, broiling eggs, basting 
a lordly roast, toasting cheese, and mulling wine, amid such 
jesting and revelling as none but soldiers can indulge in after 
danger dared and slaughter past. There were several among 
them who no doubt would have recognized him as the witch- 
pricker of Edinburgh, had they been less occupied with the 
pleasant task of satisfying their appetite, or had they more 
closely examined his face, the vile expression of which was con- 
sideiably increased by the manner in which he had smeared 
it with dust and mud for concealment ; but Lintstock, who hac 
some undefinable suspicions concerning him, kept a strict 
watch over all his movements, and never once lost sight ol 
him, even for a moment, during the whole night. 

The feasting was over, the demi-john had been drained, fresh 
guards had been posted, and the soldiers lay down to sleep, foi 
Roland had announced that they were to march by sunrise, 
and desired Lintstock to prepare a spiced posset of wine for his 
friend Leslie and himself, against the time when the morning 
trumpet should sound. 

Two box beds opened off the hall, and each officer, without 
removing his armour, occupied one of them ; while their sol 


108 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


cliers slept on the floor, lying close together, with their sworcla 
and arquebuses beside them ; and as the pavement was some- 
what cold (even though the month was June), the staves of the 
demi-john, a few sturdy oak chairs, and several other articles of 
furniture, had been heaped in the chimney, where they were 
all blazing in a sheet of flame, like a yule-nicht fire. 

Rolled up in his grey maud, Nichol Birrel reclined in a cor- 
ner of the ingle, with his bonnet drawn over his eyes ; but in- 
stead of being asleep, as he pretended, he was intently watch- 
ing the groups that slept around him. In a more remote 
corner lay Lintstock, partly under the hall table, with his axe 
and sword under his head as a pillow, and his keen bright eye 
fixed on the shaggy-headed brodder, who had not the least idea 
that he was either watched or suspected. 

And thus the two men lay, for nearly two hours. The brod- 
der watching the sleeping soldiers, and Lintstock watching him. 
The one-eyed veteran had conceived an invincible mistrust and 
repugnance of their new acquaintance, and lay awake like a lynx. 

The fire began to sink and smoulder ; and the objects in the 
hall, itc great and sturdily-legged table, the sleeping groups in 
their cr^nical corslets and red doublets ; the yawning fire-place, 
and th'^ rough arch of the mantel-piece, the ponderous beams 
of the ceiling, and the deep embrasures of the windows, as- 
sumed vai-ious shapes to the half-closed eye of Lintstock. The 
shadows became black, while a fainter red began to flicker on 
the walls as the embers died, and everything became grotesquely 
indistinct. 

Sleep was fast overpowering the drowsy veteran ; but before 
yielding to it, he gave one last glance at the witch-brodder, and, 
starting, grasped the shaft of his Jethart axe. 

Birrel had arisen and thrown off his plaid. The last glow 
of the sinking embers shone full on his strong squat figure, his 
bilious visage, matted beard, and muscular hands, giving him 
the aspecj of an enormous gnome in their uncertain light. 

•‘Hah! what now, sir?” muttered Lintstock, quietly. 

Birrel unsheathed his dagger; the blade gleamed redly in 
the flame ; but instead of grasping the hilt in the usual way, he 
unscrewed the pommel ; and then fortunately a current of wind 
which streamed down the wide chimney and fanned the embers 
into a sudden flame, showed Lintstock how he took from the 
hollow ball a few red grains, and shook them into the posset 
cup which had been prepared for Sir Roland and his friend 
and which stood near the fire upon the wa'in hearth. 


THE king’s ADTOCA.TE. 


lOP 

Lintstock grasped his axe tighter. 

For a moment the wine posset frothed and foamed in the 
light ; then the fermentation subsided, and with the last gleam 
ot the exhausted fire, Lintstock saw the brodder envelop him- 
self once more in his plaifi, and, after stretching his limbs upon 
the warm ingle-seat, go composedly to sleep. 

The firelight had expired, and then Lintstock could perceive 
the first faint grey of the morning, brightening coldly and- 
steadily beyond the strong iron gratings of the hall windows ; 
and being well aware that the sentinels would permit none to 
pass without Sir Roland’s order or permission, and thus that the 
captive poisoner could not escape, Lintstock also addressed him- 
self to sleep, for the short two hours that intervened before the 
nsual time of marching. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A DRAUGHT OF WATER. 

“ How light is my song, as I journey along, 

Now my perilous service is o’er ; 

I tb nk on sweet home, and 1 carol a song, 

In remembrance of her I adore.” 

TannakiU. 

With the first pe^p of the sun’s red disc above the Cairntable, 
the trumpet sounded in the court of the barmkyn ; and start- 
ing at once to their arms, the arquebusiers, with the ready reso- 
lution of soldiers accustomed to be roused on a moment’s 
warning at all hours and in all seasons, hastened from the hall, 
and began to fall into their ranks in the yard. Many dead 
bodies, and that of the stalwart Fleming among them, were 
lying among the mire, where the fugitive cattle had trod them ; 
a lance-spesade proceeded to call the roll, while the fourrier 
broached a cask of ale, from which every man took a long horn 
before marching. 

Roland Vipont was the first who started at the sound of the 
trumpet. 

Hollo, Lintstock,” cried he : “ my sword and helmet, and 
bring hither the wine-pot. Come forth, my light Leslie ; the 
trumpet hath blown.” 


200 


JANE seton; or, 


Lintstock brought the posset to his master, who was about to 
divide it, by pouring a portion into another cup for Leslie ; 
when the wakeful servant whispered in his ear, while lacing on 
his helmet — 

“ Hold ye. Sir Roland, and invite our new friend in the bor- 
der maud to taste of it first.” 

“ Methinks muddy ale, or ditch-water, would better suit his 
knave’s throat ; but why this request ?” 

“ There hath been foul play in the night.” 

“ Oho !” said Roland, changing colour, and setting down the 
cup ; “ do you say so ?” 

“ Poisoned ?” asked Leslie, in a low, fierce voice. 

Lintstock winked, and nodded towards Birrel, who, at that 
moment, for the third or fourth time, was endeavouring stealth* 
ily to leave the hall, with the last of the soldiers. 

“ Come hither, friend Dargavel, — for so I believe thou callest 
thyself,” — said Roland, filling a wooden bicker from the large 
pot of mulled wine; “is it thus thou stealest away without 
bidding adieu to me, who am thy host, for thou knowest that 
I command all here while within the walls ? Come, drink with 
us, friend ; ’tis a bad maxim to ride with a fasting stomach, so 
thou art welcome to a share of this posset, which has simmered 
overnight by the fire. Dost thou hear me, fellow ? Art thou 
deaf ?” 

Birrel’s visage turned deadly pale, and a perspiration suf- 
fused the roots of his hair and matted beard. 

“ I never drink ought that is stronger than water — never, at 
any time,” said he, with a quavering voice. 

“ This is false,” said Leslie ; “ for I saw thee dipping thy 
moustachios, yea, and thy whole beard, in the demijohn last 
night.” 

“ True — but in the morning I never drink either ale, wine, 
or usquebaugh — never, sir knights — wi’ mony gude thanks for 
your courtesie.” 

“ Tarry with us, friend ; be not in a hurry,” said Roland — 
at a sign from whom Lintstock placed himself in the doorway 
— “ of what, in the devil’s name, does thy morning draught 
usually consist?” 

“ Milk,” replied Birrel, becoming blanched with fear, and 
looking round for some friendly hole wherein to hide himself. 

“ A very hermit in temperance ! I regret that, in conse- 
quence of all the cattle having escaped, we cannot accornmo- 
ttate you, my pretty man, with a draught of your favounte 


THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


201 


beverage. But hark you, sir,” said Roland, unsheathing his 
formidable sword ; “ thou seest this blade ? — well, if thou dost 
not drain this cup of wine to the bottom, I will pass this wea 
pon to the hilt — yea, sirrah, to the very hilt, through thy 
body !” 

“ Of all the sights of horror and disgust,” says a popular 
writer, “ villany transformed at the death hour into its natural 
character and original of cowardice, is among the most appal- 
ling.” The witch-finder trembled in every limb, and seemed 
frozen to stone by this command. 

“ Ha ! thou unfanged reptile, so we have thee by the 
throat ?” cried Roland, withdrawing his keen, sharp weapon for 
the death-thrust ; “ ofi* with it, to the dregs — yea, to the very 
dregs !” 

The tongue of Birrel clove to his palate, for the fear of death 
and love of life were strong in his breast ; he had dropped ten 
grains into the goblet — and he remembered the words of his 
master, that ea^ grain was the life of a man. He gasped for 
breath, but could only utter inarticulate murmurs. He turned 
towards the doorway, and there stood Lintstock with his eye 
full of ferocity, and his axe uplifted. 

“ Harkee, hound ! dost thou hear me ?” said Vipont, spurn 
ing him with his foot. 

“ Oh, Sir Roland, have mercy, have mercy ! The servant 
is not responsible for what he does by the orders of his master.” 

“A pleasant rascal this!” said Leslie. “So thou hast a 
master, eh ?” 

Birrel stammered, and paused ; for, villain as he was, he 
meant not to betray Red hall. 

“Think not that, by divulging his name, thou wilt save thy 
hang-dog life!” said Roland — who mistook his delay — “fori 
swear by the God that is in heaven ! if thou drainest not this 
draught to the very bottom, I will run thee through the heart 
without more preamble. So quick ! quick ! swallow, swallow ! 
dost think we have time to trifle about crushing a reptile so 
despicable as thee !” 

The villain sank upon his knees, for they refused to sustain 
his weight ; fear froze the very pulses of his heart, and palsied 
his tongue; his countenance became livid and clayey ; his eyes 
sank, and his lips became blue. 

“ How frightful this villain is !” said Leslie. “ Did evei a 
bitive man look thus in the face of death ?” 

“ Mercy, sirs ! mercy ! I will sin no more ; I will be a gude 


202 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


man and true — I will tell you all — ray master’s name — but 
mercy, sirs ! mercy !” 

“ Thy master’s name ! we seek it not,” said Roland, as he 
smote him on the mouth with his gauntletted hand ; “ we seek 
it not ; for then our honour would compel us to slay him wher- 
ever we met him, by holm or hillside, at kirk or in market ; 
and I wish not to stain my father’s sword with the blood of 
villains.” 

“ A priest ! then let me have a priest ! but five minutes wi’ 
a priest ! for oh, I have mickle to say, and muckle to re- 
pent o’ !” 

“ Dog ! thou art a Protestant, I believe, and requirest not a 
priest. No, go down to thy grave with the curse of the God 
of the living and the God of the dead upon thy brow — that 
dogged front where the mark of hell is written ! Drink ! 
drink ! dost thou hear me, Cain ?” 

Roland held the dreadful cup before his eyes by one hand, 
while, with the other, he gave him a violent prick in the breast 
with the point of his sword. 

Birrel uttered a shriek like a fiend ; and, draining the cup 
to the bottom, flung it full at the face of Roland, who stooped 
his head, and the wooden vessel was dashed to a thousand 
shreds on the opposite wall. 

“Now I have but two hours to live !” he cried, with the 
voice of a damned one ; “ two hours ! two hours ! two hours I” 
and, darting through the doorway, he hurled Lintstock from his 
path as he would a child, and, with one bound, sprang down 
stairs into the court-yard, where he passed through the startled 
soldiers like a whirlwind, with his visage overspread by the 
blue pallor of death, his mouth covered with foam, and his 
matted hair streaming m elflocks behind him. 

Snatching up a cord that lay in his path, he cleared the 
fosse with one bound, like an evil spirit ; and uttering a succes- 
sion of frightful cries, plunged down the steep bank, towards 
the rough, rocky bed of the Douglas. 

“ How now ! is the fellow going to hang himself ?” said 
Roland. 

“ Faith, poisoning might surely satisfy Ijim,” replied Leslie. 

Master Birrel certainly was about to hang himseli^ but not 
by the neck. 

“ I must live — I must live — oh, yes, I must, for vengeance !” 
he yelled ; for, coward as he was, he felt that he could have 
iied happy, if, by so doing, he could destroy Roland Vipont 


TEIK king’s advocate. 


203 


and Jane Seton —yea, and his master too, who had sent him 
on an errand so fatal in its termination. 

While some of the soldiers were burying the dead, and 
others were tracing the horses to the artillery, the poisoned 
ruffian ran wildlj to a solitary part of the river, where he threw 
himself on his fa(;e, and imbibed an inordinate draught of cold 
water — drinking, drinking, drinking — as if he was a mere hoi 
low pipe. Loosening his waist-belt, and untying the points of 
his doublet, he stooped and drank deeply again, burying his 
face in the water until his distended stomach felt swollen as if 
to bursting, and when he arose the whole landscape swam 
around him. Then, selecting the branch of a tree, he clam- 
bered up to it with the utmost difficulty, for he had turned him- 
self into a mere water barrel. 

Then, in a horror of anxiety — for every moment wasted 
seemed an eternity — he tied his ankles to the branch, and low- 
ering his body perpendicularly till his hands rested on the turf, 
he remained suspended, head downwards, in the hope that, with 
the ocean of water he had drunk, he might disgorge the fright- 
ful poison he had been compelled to swallow. But long before 
this hideous operation was over, Roland Vipont, Leslie, and 
their soldiers, with the royal banner displayed, and their 
bright armour gleaming in the sun, were marching down the 
pastoral valley on their route to Edinburgh, having now tra- 
versed the whole dale of the Douglas without discovering the 
Earl of Ashkirk. 

“ Now, fare ye well Lanarkshire, and welcome the dun sum 
mit of Arthur’s Seat,” thought Roland, as, full of the most bril 
liant anticipations of happiness, he spurred his gallant horse 
and patted its arching neck. “ In three days I will be with my 
dear Jeanie ; and, in a month from this, whether the king 
sayeth yea or nay, she sliall be my winsome bride I” 


204 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE SECOND VISIT. 

Give me again my innocence of soul ; 

Give me my forfeit honour blanched anew ; 

Cancel my treasons to my royal master ; 

Restore me to my country’s lost esteem, 

To the sweet hope of mercy from above, 

And the calm comforts of a virtuous heart.” 

Edward the Black Prince 

The soothing or sleeping draught had been duly administered 
by Tib Trotter, and Jane Seton slept. 

Everything of late had happened most favourably for the 
‘intriguing lord advocate. The queen’s delicate health, the 
king’s anxiety, his fear and suspicion of the Douglasses ; the 
imprisonment of the countess on Inchkeith, and the retirement 
of the court to the Abbey of Balmerino ; but chiefly the young 
earl’s proscription, the banishment of all his retainers from the 
city, and the protracted absence of Roland Vipont in Douglas- 
dale, from whence it was to be hoped Birrel would never per- 
mit him to return alive, left Archibald Seton and his sister 
utterly at the mercy of Redhall, the chambers of whose man- 
sion were as secret and secure as those of the recently-esta- 
blished Holy-Office at St. Andrew’s. 

Animated by no new evil intention, but solely by his cla- 
morous desire to see her, to be near her, that he might touch 
her hands or kiss her cheek unrepelled, Redhall had adminis- 
tered the narcotic to his fair captive, whom he now prepared 
to visit. 

It was midnight ; his whole household was buried in slum- 
ber ; and as the moment approached when he had proposed to 
pay this somewhat equivocal visit, a tremor took possession 
of his heart, a dimness came over his eyes, and he imbibed 
more than one glass of wine, to string his nerves and still his 
agitation. 

“ Poll !” said he, as his cheek reddened ; “ all this excitement 
about visiting a girl — a girl who is asleep, too.” 

Like many other Scottish houses where the walls w(*re strong 
Redhall’s mansion was furnished with several narrow wheel-stair- 
cases, which, like gimlet-holes, perforated the edifice from top to 


THE king’s advocate. 


20ft 


bottom, communicating with the various stories. One of these 
descended from the door of his apartment to another which 
gave entrance to Jane Seton’s, opening just behind the arras 
her bed. 

Redhall laid his poniard on the table, from which he took a 
candle, and treading softly in his maroquin slippers, found him- 
self at the door of Jane’s apartment, and there he paused. 
Though not a current of air swept up the narrow staircase, the 
candle in his tremulous hand streamed like a pennon, while a 
glow of fear and shame traversed his heart like a red-hot iron. 

Tib had informed him that Lady Jane kept candles burn- 
ing in her room all night ; so, extinguishing his, he noiselessly 
onened the little private door, and drew back the arras. A 
s»nse of flowers and perfume, mingled with the closer atmosphere 
o*' the chamber, was wafted towards him, and, by the light of 
two candles which, in massive square holders of Bruges silver, 
burned on the toilet-table, he was enabled to make a survey of 
the whole dormitory, on which he was intruding. Though he 
was unconscious of any guilty intention, there was (he mentally 
acknowledged) something equivocal in the time and manner 
of his visit that appalled his heart. He felt shame glowing on 
his cheek ; he saw spies in every shadow, and heard a voice in 
every echo of his own footfalls. 

Softly he let the arras drop, but, in his excitement, forgot to 
close behind him the door which it was intended to conceal. 

Unused, from the first hour she had occupied the chamber, 
the magnificent bed prepared for Jane Seton had not been dis- 
turbed, and with its cornices of carved oak, its festooned hang- 
ings and aspiring feathers, its heraldic blazonry and grotesque 
devices, it towered upon its dais like a monument in some old 
abbe} aisle. 

Placed on each side of a mirror, the two candles reflected a 
bright light upon the warmly-coloured tapestry of the apart- 
ment ; the Persian carpet of its floor, the fresh flowers that, in 
jars of Venetian glass, decorated the mantel-piece, and all the 
innumerable little ornaments with which the taste and policy 
of Redhall had furnished it, to beguile the tedium or flatter the 
vanity of his unwilling prisoner. 

“ She sleeps !” said he, advancing on tiptoe, and shading his 
eyes with his hand, “ she sleeps, and soundly too. Oh, how 
beautiful she is ! How pure, how innocent she looks !” he 
added, gazing upon her, with eyes of adoration, for he loved 
her exceedingly, and with a depth of regard which, though not 


206 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


based on the same sentiments of esteem, was nowise inferior 
perhaps to that of the more favoured Roland Vipont. 

She was seated in a large arm-chair of the most luxurious 
description. Carved like a gigantic clamshell, the back, with 
its arms and sides, were of damask, stuffed with the softest 
down, and the woodwork was elaborately gilt. She reclined 
within it, with a hand, white as alabaster, resting on each of 
the arms ; her head lay somewhat on her right shoulder, over 
which her unbound hair poured in a shower of ringlets, which, 
from her recumbent position, reached nearly to the ground. 
Her face was pale as her hands ; but some vision was rising 
before her, through the depth of her slumber, and a soft smile 
played on her beautiful mouth. 

Though feeling certain that, under the influence of what she 
had imbibed Jane would not awake, Redhall scarcely dared to 
breathe ; but, impelled by the delirium that was rapidly mount- 
ing to his brain, a devouring longing to touch, to embrace her, 
possessed him ; and, kneeling before his sleeping divinity, he 
kissed both her hands repeatedly and affectionately. Then he 
became giddy, and his heart beat furiously ; pulses rang in his 
ears, and all his senses began to wander wildly ; he gently 
encircled her with his arms, pressed her to his breast, and 
kissed her soft cheek again and again. A blindness seemed to 
come over him. 

“ Oh, beautiful, indeed, thou art, and most adorable, too ; 
but proud and pitiless to me — to poor me, that loves thee so 
well !” he murmured, becoming almost maudlin ; “ why hast 
thou so great a horror of a poor being that would kiss the very 
dust whereon thou treadest ? Oh, how this love is bewildering 
me — I am not the same man — oh, no — ’tis a torment — a 
frenzy.” 

His hot, dry eyes became moistened, and one large tear fell 
upon the cheek of Jane. 

She suddenly opened her large startled eyes, and fixed them 
upon him with an expression of terror and stupefaction ; while 
his own astonishment was so great that he forgot to release her 
from his embrace. 

The draught had been less potent than the apothegar in- 
tended. 

“ ’Tis a dream !” she muttered, and closed her eyes ; “ ano- 
ther dream, but always that face of horror !” 

Then, becoming more awake, and more alive to her situation, 
and feeling that the arms of some one encircled her, she shud- 


THE king’s advocate. 


207 


iered, and, in great alarm, attempted to rise, but her limbs 
were powerless, and a strange numbness tied her to her chair. 
She made a superhuman effort to cry, but her tongue was 
powerless. 

“ Mother ! mother ! what is this ? Assist me, for I am 
wholly at his mercy ! I am in the power of a demon, who 
will fascinate me with his eyes.” 

Laying her gently back, his first impulse was to retreat 
before perfect consciousness returned ; but she seemed so agi- 
tated, so woe-begone, and so frightfully pale, that he dared not 
leave her ; and, on his knees, began to chafe in his her soft 
and dimpled hands. 

Graduall}^, the truth forced itself upon Jane. Her actual 
tormentor and no vision was before her. She began to weep, 
and covered her face with her snow-white hands, over which 
her hair fell like a glossy veil. 

“ Oh, despair ! despair ! am I abandoned foF ever ? Roland, 
Roland ! come to me, dearest Roland !” she exclaimed, inco- 
herently. “ Oh, man, man ! why dost thou persecute me thus ?” 

Sir Adam Otterburn was stung to the heart by her words • 
but, sighing deeply, he gently parted her dishevelled hair, and 
said — 

“ Lady Jane, I am aware that I am guilty of great wrong 
towards you ; but it is the guilt of love, and love should pardon 
the frenzy it has caused.” 

“ 1 can pardon your love, but can I pardon the misery K 
hath caused me ? It is not the love of a sane man, but the 
fantasy of a madman. I am thy prisoner, lawlessly thy pri- 
soner; but thou hast infamously violated the ties of honour 
and hospitality in breaking the privacy of a helpless woman. 
Fie upon thee, man ! for I will raise upon thee even thine own 
detested household !” 

She rose staggering, and more than once passed her hand 
across her forehead, for her faculties were as yet obscured by 
the potion. 

“ Oh, deem me not so vile !” said Redhall, clasping his hands, 
and looking upon her with the most sad and solemn earnest- 
ness “ I came but to see, to touch, to be near you, to breathe 
but the same air with you, to look upon you without being 
repulsed, to sit by and worship you ; and I have done so with 
such adoration as I never felt even before the altar of my God 
and I call Him to witness, if in my mind there was kindled 
one imjiure or one unholy thought.” 


208 


JANE seton; or, 


“ Fool !” said Jane, bitterly, for she was full of angry alarm : 
“ thou ravest like one of Lindesay’s playmen. Thy purity 
of thought should have made thee respect as sacred the 
chamber to which I am consigned. Sir Adam, in all thy love- 
making there is a fustian sophistry, which shews thou art im- 
mensely inferior to ray Vipont ; and he, though but a rough 
soldier, never dared resort to blasphemy in expressing his love 
for me.” 

Jane saw the agony that Vipont’s name always occasioned 
her tormentor, and could not forbear to sting him with it. A 
cold moisture studded his pale forehead with diamond-like 
drops ; a satanic smile lit up with a gleam of undisguised 
jealousy his dark and homicidal eyes. 

In this taunt she felt her strength ; but saw not the danger 
of driving to despair a heart so fierce, so proud, so jealou:^ and 
resentful. He approached, but she drew back with a haughty 
look. - 

“ Beware, Sir Adam,” said she, “ for even if the king and his 
court forget that I am the daughter of John, Earl of Ashkirk, 
I have a dear brother, and a dearer friend^ who, if they cannot 
at present protect, will one day surely and fearfully avenge 
me !” 

“ Proud lady,” he replied, with calm fury, “ if neither heaven 
nor hell can protect thee, dost think that thy brother, who is 
my prisoner, and whose life is in my hands ; or that other 
miserable moth — that holiday captain, in steel plates and gilded 
scales, will succour, save, or avenge thee ?” 

“ They will, the}’- will, I tell thee, false baron and craven 
man ; thou corrupt counsellor and cowardly Otterburn ! And 
when Vipont returns, thou and all thy kindred may tremble, 
for neither the Otterburns of Redhall nor Redford, of Auldhame 
or Avondoune, will be able to withstand him.” 

He smiled sourly ; and she uttered a scornful laugh. 

“ Woman, how pitilessly thou plantest poniards in a heart 
that loves thee well. Oh, beware ! beware ! for a single drop 
will make the cup that brims to overflow. My heart can know 
no medium ; it is capable of only two extremes. Love the 
most blind, hatred the most insane ; and at times I feel that it 
vibrates between them. Beware of the last ; and, oh ! beware 
of thrusting this rival in my face, for slowly, but surely, drop 
by drop, as it were, a savage longing for revenge w'ill gather in 
my heart ; yea, drop by drop, till it swells into a flood — a 
fierce, a furious flood, that bearing all before it (like a moun 


IHK king’s advocate. 


209 


tain torrent), will drown alike the stings of conscience and of 
like a feather on its surface, will sweep you away 

“Sir Roland Vipont is a gallant soldier, who will laugh 
alike at thy vengeance and thy bombast. True, wretch ! thou 
mayest murder him, as thou didst MacClellan of Bombie,” 
she continued, with eyes full of tears and fire ; “ but even then 
we will find hearts and hands to avenge us.” 

Redhall remained for some moments speechless with passion 
and confusion. 

“ Bombie 1” he reiterated, turning ghastly pale ; “ what 
leads you to suppose I ever committed a crime so frightful ? 
Speak ! But this is the wordy anger of a woman. You talk 
of an affair which happened eleven years ago, when you must 
have been but little more than a child. Lady, these words are 
rash and unadvised. Oh ! I implore thee to beware of exciting 
in my heart the hatred of which 1 spoke, and of which I feel 
it capable.” 

“ Then I will repeat them a thousand and a thousand times, 
thou murderer of the brave Sir Thomas MacClellan, my 
father’s long-loved friend. I need care little for thy hatred^ 
when thy mad love costs me so dear.”, 

“Mv hatred — beware, I implore thee once again — beware 
of it !” 

Lady Seton laughed ; and a gloomy expression gathered in 
the dark solemn eyes of Redhall. 

“Think, dear lady — think,” said he, “of the ruin that hangs 
over thee and thy house.” 

“ Do thou rather reflect on that, and remember that, were 1 
to wed thee, for ever wouldst thou lose the favour of James, the 
cardinal, and their obsequious parliament ; destroying thyself 
without lessening by one iota the thousand pitiless severities to 
which the knights and barons of our faction are subjected.” 

“ Nay, lady, nay ; I who have done can undo. Many of those 
acts of proscription and severity were enacted by my advice and 
by my influence.” 

“ Another incentive to abhor thee.” 

“ But I can restore the banished to their homes — the disho- 
noured to honour — the unhappy to happiness — the ruined and 
despaii’ing to wealth and affluence ; and to do all this by a 
word lies with thee alone.” 

“ St. Mary ! 1 know not whether to weep with vexation, or 

/augh at thee with scorn,” said Jane, in great distress and per 
14 


210 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


plexity, for she could not but acknowledge mentally that he 
spoke the truth. “ Oh, Vipont ! Vipont !” she added, in a low 
voice, “ assuredly thou hast abandoned me.” 

Another wild gleam passed over the eyes of Redhall. 

“ Rash woman, how thou bravest me ! If thy heart, insensi 
ble as it is, has neither love for me, nor pity for the knights 
and nobles of thy race, surely at least it will tremble for thy 
self! Behold this warrant,” he continued, drawing a parch- 
ment from his bosom; “from this house, Jane Seton, thou 
canst only pass to the castle of Edinburgh. Here are accu- 
sations of treason ; of conspiring with the English ; of reset- 
ting rebels ; and worse, oh ! worse a thousand times than all — 
sorcery, and compassing, by spell and charm, the life of Queen 
Magdalene.” 

He paused, and his lowering countenance assumed a diabo- 
lical expression ; for his stormy passions were wavering (as he 
had said) between excess of love and excess of hate. 

“ Ponder well upon my offer, and deeper upon my threat ; 
respect the first, and — ^fear the second. Life, honour, power, 
and happiness, are in my right hand ; trial and torture, dis- 
grace and death, the stake and the gibbet, are in my left. 
Here, love the most tender and most true; there, revenge 
revelling like an unchained fiend! Think, think, oh! for 
mercy’s sake — for pity’s sake ; and for the love of God, think, 
ere thou dost for the last time pause or repel me.” 

Trembling, and scarcely able to restrain her tears — 

“ Sir Adam Otterburn,” she replied, “ I despise alike these 
oflers and those threats ; for if not a villain, and a cruel one, 
thou art (and Heaven protect me !) assuredly a madman.” 

His countenance became livid, and his eyes sad. 

“ Then so be it — o. madman / Then, as a madman, let me 
have but one soul, one thought, and one desire — vengeance ! the 
deep, thirsty vengeance of madness, of jealousy and despair !” 

Terrified by his aspect and his fury, Jane had withdrawn to 
the farthest end of the apartment ; when a new gust of passion 
seized him, and he sprang towards her. 

“ There is but one way left me now. Am 1 child, a boy, a 
fool, that I trifle with thee, who art pitiless as a panO er, and 
inanimate. as marble?” he exclaimed, as he seized her, and 
endeavoured to encircle her with his arms ; “ in this house thou 
art completely in my power a® in the midst of a desert, and 
now^and now ” 

“ Mercy !” cried Jane, filled with a sudden sense of new dan* 


THE king’s advocate. 


21 


<er, as she endeavoured to elude his wild grasp, and the gaze 
)i his large, dark, gloating eyes, and }.)rayed aloud for safetv 
ana protection. 

“ Ay, invoke and cry, and pray to God or to man, as thou 
pleasest ; but will either hear thee ?” 

“ Vipont ! Vipont !” 

“ Ha ! ha ! the hand of Birrel is in his heart.” 

“Archibald she panted, sinking down against the wall, 
. nd overcome with terror. “ Oh, Archibald, my brother, my 
urother !” 

Here cried a voice like a trumpet; the arras was torn 
aside, and a man sprang forward — there was a flash as a poni- 
ard was buried in the breast ot Redhall, and the black velvet 
of his doublet was stained with red, a cloud of darkness 
descended upon his eyes; and as he fell weltering in his blood, 
Jane was borne away by the strong intruder. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

SANCTUARY ! SANCTUARY ! 

“ A strange emotion stirs within him— more 
Than mere compassion ever waked before ; — 

Unconsciously he opes his arms while she 
Springs forward, as with life’s lost energy.” 

• Lalla Rookh 

The Earl of Ashkirk, on finding that he was actually possessor 
of a small steel knife, could scarcely repress his joy till night- 
fall, or refrain from indulging in a merry song; so his exube- 
rance expended itself in whistling, and drawing on the walls a 
variety of caricatures of Redhall hanging upon a gallows, inva- 
riably appending to his face an enormous nose ; for that feature 
of the lord advocate, though straight and singularly handsome, 
was, to say the least of it, somewhat long and dignified. 

As the sun set, he employed himself in tapping with the 
handle of the knife the various stones of the partition wall, for 
the idea of effecting a breach through the vast solidity of the 
external barrier never occurred to him. 

There was one part of the inner wall which was jointed with 
remarkably large and square stones, where, Dy the frequent 


212 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


sound of feet ascending and descending, he felt assured there 
was a stair behind ; and there he resolved to commence opera- 
tions the moment he was confident of being left undisturbed 
for that night. 

He was singularly facetious with Tam Trotter when the lat- 
ter, as usual, left him for the last time about six o’clock, and 
secured all the doors. By this time the earl had decided upon 
which stone to operate, and selected one abo t four feet from 
the floor ; he marked it with a cross for goo* luck, and after 
viewing his treasured knife for the thousandth ume, repaired to 
his little window to watch the lagging sunset. 

Never, even when longing for a meeting with Sybil, did the 
moments pass so slowly. 

The evening was still and calm, and not a leaf was stirring 
in the venerable chestnuts and sycamores at the foot of the lit- 
tle park which extended towards the south, behind the house 
of Redhall. The sunlight died away on Arthur’s Seat, and 
the sky gradually deepened to a darker and more cerulean 
blue, and one by one the stars came out of its bosom ; the hum 
of the city, and other sounds of life without, ceased gradually, 
and nothing was heard but now and then the striking of a fri- 
ary clock, or the jangling bells in the convent of Placentia. 
Night — the short but beautiful night of June — had come on ; 
and one might have imagined that another and a softer day 
was dawning in the glorious light of the midsummer moon, as 
it rose in undouded magnificence above the Craigs of Salisbury ; 
then with the first ray that shone into his chamber, the earl, 
whose heart beat rapidly and almost fiercely with anxiety, and 
whose hands trembled, but with eagerness, drew forth his trea- 
sured knife, and commenced the arduous and exciting work of 
escape. 

Fitted close as books on a shelf, squared and built with little 
mortar, the task of loosening and completely disengaging one 
stone occupied hours. The knife bent like a willow wand; 
and the earl’s heart almost sank with fear lest it should break, 
and that if he failed or was discovered at such a task, a stronger 
prison^ perhaps a hopeless dungeon, might be apportioned to 
him. Loosened on all sides, the stone he had selected was 
a block a foot high by eighteen inches broad ; it vibrated to 
the touch, but the utmost exertion and art he could put in 
practice failed to coax it one inch from its deep bed in the 
wall ; the knife, his nails, his fingers, were all resorted to sue 
cessively again and again, but in vain — it shook, it vibrated, 


THE king’s advocate. 


213 


but obstinately remained in its place, till in a fit of fury, and 
when about to abandon the task in despair, he uttered a male- 
diction, and gave the stone a violent push with both his hands. 
Then, lo ! it shot through the wall to the outside, and disen- 
gaging others in its passage, fell upon what Lord Ashkirk dis- 
covered in a moment to be a step of one of those narrow staira 
we have described in the preceding chapter. 

The echoes of its fall died away in the stony windings of the 
stair ; and grasping his knife, the eai-1 stood for a moment petri- 
fied, lest all his labour and anxiety were lost, and the noise 
should rouse the household ; but fortunately (save their master) 
all the members of it were buried in profound repose. The 
earl could hear his heart beating, as the blood rushed back 
tumultuously upon it ; but all remained still as death, and he 
could hear the corbies croaking as they swung in their nests 
among the foliage of the ancient trees without. 

There was not a moment to be lost. 

With some difficulty he crawled through the aperture, and 
found himself in a dark and narrow stair. His first thought 
was to replace the heavy stone, which he did with ease, for this 
gallant young noble was strong as a Hercules ; thus, as the 
breach was immediately behind the door, it was concealed froir 
those who might enter the chamber ; and hence the dismay of 
Tam Trotter on the morrow, when he found it void, without 
knowing or perceiving how. 

The earl was naturally about to descend, when the cry of a 
female arrested him ; and though he knew not with certainty 
that his sister Jane was in the power of Sir Adam Otterburn, 
the voice made him experience something like an electric shock ; 
and he sprang up the stair, taking three steps at a time. 

The first apartment he entered was empty ; a light burned 
on the table, which bore a pyramid of letters and papers ; the 
walls were shelved, and covered with vellum-bound volumes — • 
it was the study or library of the lord advocate. A Flemish 
clock, in workmanship and aspect little superior to a common 
roasting-jack of modern times, hung above the raantel-piece, 
and pointed to the hour of twelve. 

Above him the earl heard voices, whose purport he could not 
discover, but whose tones seemed familiar to his ear. 

Appropriating to himself a handsome poniard that lay on the 
table, just where Redhall had placed it about an hour before, 
he sprang to the next story, at the door of which a candle was 
burning on the floor : it streamed in a current of air, wliich 


214 JANE SETON, OR, 

anuounced to the observant earl that there must be an externa 
door below. 

The voices were those of his sister Jane and their enemy, 
Redhall. 

A storm of passion filled his heart; and at the very moment 
she was exclaiming — “ Archibald ! oh, Aiichibald, my brother !” 
he tore aside the arras, and striking Redhall to the floor with 
his own poniard, seized his sister by the hand, and led, or 
rather dragged her forth, and down the steep stair, at the bot- 
tom of which they found themselves in the vaulted stone lobby 
of the mansion. Everything was yet silent. 

The flaring light of a smoky oil lamp which stood on a gro 
tesque stone bracket projecting from the wall, revealed its fur- 
niture, which consisted of little more than a few sturdy oak 
chairs, and a stout binn, whereon stood an ale barrel, with a 
quaigh hanging on its spigot, wherewith the servants of visitors, 
or whoever chose, might quench their thirst ; for such was the 
hospitable fashion of the olden time. At the further end of the 
lobby* was an arch closed by a strong door, which was secured 
by one ponderous wooden bar, that crossed it transversely, and 
had a solid rest in the walls at each side. 

To shoot back this bar of oak, to open the heavy door, and 
rush into the Canongate, were but the work of a moment — and 
then Lord Ashkirk and his sister were free. 

“Oh, Archibald! Archibald!” cried Jane, as she threw her- 
self into the arms of her brother in a transport of grief and 
excitement — “ am I quite saved — and by you ?” 

“I have not a mom ent to dear Jeanie, for the blood- 
hounds of Redhall will be upon my track. Yonder is our 
house. I dare not enter it ; but once there, thou at least art 
safe.” 

“ With my mother — oh, yes ; when with my mother I will 
fear nothing. Our dear mother ! but thou ?” 

“ Must hasten hence. Edinburgh will be too hot to hold me 
after this affair ; and already I have been loo rash in residing 
here. Hah !” he exclaimed, half-savagely, but with a shudder, 
as he held up his hand, “ this is the blood of Redhall ! There 
will be a vacant gown in the High Court to-morrow — one vil- 
lain less in the tribunal of cowards ! Here, then, thou art safe 
[ will cross into Fife, even should I swim the Firth, and will 
retire towards the Highlands, as the king will be sure to look 

* Scottish for an entrance hall; derived, I believe, from the Germac 
\aube : a gallery, or walking place. 


THE kino’s advocate. 


215 


for me on the Borders. Tell Vipont of this, and intrust your- 
self to hiir for he alone can protect thee now. I can no more.” 

“ But Roland is in Douglasdale, and our mother a prisoner 
m the castle of Inchkeith !” 

Tlw earl gnashed his tei^th with passion. 

“ How many wheels hath this dark conspiracy !” said he. 
“ Ha ! ’tis well I struck deep to-night.” 

“ See, Archibald, our house is dark and deserted ; the gates 
«re locked. Oh ! such silence and desolation !” 

“ What shall we do now ? If I stay with thee I shall be 
taken, and, if taken, shall indubitably be hanged red hand. 
See, this horrible poniard is actually glued to my fingers !” 

“ Away thou to the hills, and leave me. Oh, Archibald ! 
seek shelter anywhere. Thou art_the last hope of us all, Archi- 
bald ! with thee our father’s name, and fame, and race would 
perish.” 

“ True ; and what is worth them all, our hopes of vengeance 
on the Hamiltons. I must live for that! This night hath 
commenced it ; and my hand has struck one from the list of 
Angus’s foes and Arran’s friends. Jane, we are now past the 
Girth Cross ; thou art safe now, for not even Redhall would 
dare to violate the holy sanctuary. Its girdle will protect thee 
like a magic zone. Remain in the abbey church till daybreak, 
and then Sir John Forrester, who is Roland’s friend — a good 
man, and a gallant knight, will see thee in safety to our mother’s 
side. One kiss, dear Jeanie, and then a long farewell till better 
times.” 

Jane thought of the terrible warrant which Redhall had held 
before her eyes ; but fearing to delay her brother, or to alarm 
him more, she tendered her soft cheek, against which he pressed 
his long rough beard, and there they parted, in the middle of 
that dark and deserted street; for the light of a pale and 
waning moon threw the sombre shadow of the ancient Mint far 
beyond the Girth Cross, which, on its shaft of stone, stood in 
the centre of the street. Reflected from the large masses of 
white clouds that were scuddihg over the city, the cold moon- 
light shone on the vanes of the palace gate, and the square tow- 
ers of the abbey church, for it then had three — a great rood 
tower, and one on each side of the entrance. 

Intimate with all the localities of the town, the earl avoided 
the water-gate, where he knew a sentinel was posted, and 
passed down a narrow close overhung by many a “ sclaited 
lodging” and antique “ timber-larid he reached the wall a* 


216 


JANE SETON", OR, 


the bottom unseen, scaled it with agility, and found himself 
close to the hospital of St. Thomas, which was then in the 
course of erection, by George Crichton, Bishop of Dunkeld, and 
dedicated to the Virgin and all the saints, for the health of his 
own soul and the souls of the kings of Scotland, for so runs the 
charter of its foundation. From thence he bent his steps 
towards Leith, hoping with the dawn to cross the Forth by the 
first ferry-boat that departed for Kinghorn. 

Though weak, feeble, and sinking with terror, Jane Seton, 
instead of hurrying at once to Holyrood, the dimly lighted 
shrines of which were visible through its western windows and 
doorway (for then church doors stood permanently open), lin- 
gered affectionately so long as her brother was in sight, nor 
turned away until he had disappeared. 

At the porch, which served both as an entrance to the ancient 
abbey and to the new palace, was a doorway, where hung a 
certain bell, which was only rung by those claiming the ancient 
and still sacred privilege of sanctuary. Opposite was an edifice 
occupied as a guardhouse by the king’s arquebusiers. 

“ Mother of mercy, be praised !” she exclaimed, with a heart 
full of thankfulness, as she raised her hand trembling with 
eagerness to the bellrope, when, lo ! swift as light a man sprang 
into the archway, cut the cord, and seized her by the arm. 
Jane uttered a faint cry, and sank against the wall, on seeing 
the hateful visage of Dobbie, the doomster, and hearing his 
false and hollow laugh in her ear. There was a savage leer in 
his eyes, and he lolled out a long red tongue through his short 
wiry beard, as he arrested her. 

On one side lay the porter-lodge of the abbey, where she 
would have received a sanctuary ; on the other lay the guard- 
house of the soldiers ; and she knew that if discovered by them, 
after what Redhall had told her, she would indeed be lost. On 
one hand lay life — on the other death ! 

“ Sanctuary !” she cried with a despairing voice, as she clung 
to the handle of the door ; “ sanctuary, father abbot — good 
master porter ! In the name of the blessed Trinity, sanctuary ! 
For the love of God and St. Mary, sanctuary ! sanctuary ! Oh 
man, man,” she continued wildly, as the wretch threw his arms 
around her, and forcibly dragged her away, “ what wrong have 
I ever done thee ? Oh, for my brother’s dagger now ! — pity, 
pity ! I am very weak and ill. Sweet Mother of Compassion 
have mercy upon me, for others have none !” 

Her voice fVled and sense began to leave her. 


THE king’s advocate. 


217 


“ How now — what the devil !” cried a rough voice, “ whose 
brittle ware may this lass be ?” 

“ By St. Girzy, a lair strapping dame !” cried another. 

“ Let go the lass, rascal, or I will brain thee with the boll 
of my arquebuse !” exclaimed a third, as several soldiers of the 
guard came hurriedly out of the porch with their swords drawn 
and matches lighted. 

Jane’s eyes were closed, but she felt several hands laid 
roughly upon her, as she was dragged into the court of guard. 

“Ho! ho! — blood!” said one; “hath this squeeling mud- 
lark committed a murder? see, there are red spots on her cram- 
masie kirtle.” 

“Yea, and worse,” said Dobbie; “she is a sorceress of the 
house of Seton ; and here is my lord the cardinal’s warrant for 
her committal to ward, signed and sealed wi’ his braid hat, tas- 
sels and a’.” 

“ A sorceress !” muttered the soldiers ; and Jane felt their 
hands withdrawn as they shrunk back ; and at that moment a 
deadly faintness came over her 

Meanwhile, passing under the dark brow of the Doocraig, a 
rock of the Oalton, and past the old street and chapel of St. 
Niiiian, which lay on the opposite eminence, the earl hurried 
down the long pathway then known as the Loan, which led to 
Leith. St. Anthony’s Gate, which closed the seaport towards 
Edinburgh, was shut, but with the first peep of dawn it was 
opened by the warders ; and as the earl had bestowed the inter 
val in cleansing himself from several spots of blood, and adjust- 
ing his toilet, he passed without question the keepers of the 
barrier, and several of the old hospitallers of St. Anthony, who 
ev^en at that early hour were perambulating the Kirkgate in 
their long black cassocks, which had a large T and a bell shaped 
in blue cloth on the breasts thereof. 

At the pier — an ancient erection of wood which was burned 
by the English duiing Hertford’s wanton invasion seven years 
after — the earl found the Kinghorn sloop just about to sail, and 
sprang on board, descending from the pier to the deck by one 
of those old fashioned treenebrigges^ which, by an act of the 
legislature in 1425, all ferriers were bound to have prepared for 
the safe shipment of horse and man. Unchanged since the 
days of James L, the fare was then only twopence Scots for a 
man or woman, and sixpence for a horse, under pain of imprison- 
ment in the Tolbooth, and the forfeiture of forty shillings to the 
crown in case of extortion ; thus the earl, though his fundi 


218 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


were low indeed, easily passed on board, among the Fifeshire 
cottars and Burrowtoun merchants of small wares, who crowd- 
ed the low waist of the little vessel, which in a short time was 
running past the Mussel Cape and the Beacon Rock (whereon 
the martello tower now stands), and bearing away for the quaint 
and venerable town of Kinghorn, which lies on the opposite 
shore. 


CHAPTER XXXL 

THE PORTE OF THE SPUR. 


“ What ! ao reprieve, no least indulgence given, 

No beam of hope from any point of heaven 1 
Ah. mercy ! mercy ! art thou dead above 1 
Is love extinguished in the source of love ?” 

The Last Day, Book ITl. 

Redhall’s second wound was of the most dangerous kind. It 
was below that indicted by Roland, but nearer the region of the 
heart ; it bled profusely ; and his blind passion and fury on dis- 
covering that Lady Jane had really escaped, carried him beyond 
all bounds. While Trotter sprang on horseback, and galloped 
oft’ for John of the Silvermills, and Dobbie, armed with the 
warrant, was dispatched to recapture the fugitive Jane and her 
brother the earl, and have them secured in the castle of Edin- 
burgh, Redhall, in a paroxysm of rage and despair, so great, 
that it rendered him supine and powerless, lay on his bed as in 
a swoon, until the arrival of the physician, on whom, as on all, 
he enjoined (under the most tremendous threats) solemn silence 
concerning a wound, the inflicter of which he declined to name. 

The strong emotions of anger and revenge, which, with every 
fresh interview, rejection, and defeat, had been gradually 
gathering in his heart, had now indeed swollen, drop by drop, 
to the torrent he had predicted ; and, like the reed upon the 
current, she was about to be swept away with it. 

“ Ilarkye, Dobbie !” said he, through his clenched teetbi 
between which the blood was oozing, as he writhed in agony 
on his bed ; “ harkye ! give me thy thumb ; silence on all this 
—as thou livest, my good man, and true — silence on this mat- 
ter — I tell thee, silence ! Here is the warraiit — seek the Alba* 


. THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


219 


ny herald and captain of the guard — quick ! have this woman 
committed to ward, as it imports !” 

“ Should she say she has been our prisoner already ?” 

“ Begone, fool ! who would believe her ? Hence — hence, 
my God ! — go, wretch,” he added, in a low, hissing voice, as 
1 \)bbie hurried away ; “ go, and accomplish this my work of 
vengtjance ; and, one day or other, 1 shall brush thee too from 
my path, like the bloated spider thou art !” 

In half an hour the physician arrived ; and the light of the 
dull grey dawn presented a ligure which certainly had some- 
thing very appalling in it, for, in his haste, he had come away, 
wearing a mask which was furnished with two large, green, 
globular glass eyes, to protect his face from the poisonous air 
and scorching heats of his laboratory. His high and wrinkled 
forehead lowered above it, and his long beard flowed below. 

The wound was speedily bathed and salved ; and lint, with 
a bandage, was applied. 

“ Thou seest, friend, that I find this new office of king’s 
advocate no sinecure,” saith Redhall, with a fierce smile. “A 
thousand furies — how the wound smarts !” 

“ ’Tis the unguentum armarium^'’' replied the learned John, 
with medical composure; “one touch is sufficient to make such 
a wound as this shrink to the size of a pin-thrust, and two 
ought to efface it.” 

“ I feel as if the dagger was still in my heart ! Two touches 
cure, sayest thou ?” 

“ Yea, my lord.” 

“ I pray they may do so.” 

“They must, Sir Adam, if thou followest rigidly my pre- 
scriptions, w'hich are here,” and from his pouch he produced 
various phials marked with those cabalistic figures which are 
still so much in vogue among apothecaries. These he drew up 
in line, with their labels hanging like shields before them. 
“ Here is my Elixir of Life, which the care of many a long year 
hath yet failed to perfect, for lack of a certain herb which grow- 
. eth in Arabia Petriea, and is the real arbor vitce — the tree of 
life of the patriarchs ; but still its restorative and strengthen- 
^ ing' properties are wondrous! Here are my mercurial balm, 
and the essence of acorns, which last giveth to the bones the 
strength of the oak tree, and tcf the nerves and sinews the 
I toughness and tenacity of the ivy. A spoonful of each ar#» 
i taken night and morning, dissolved in a little warm water ; and 
doubt, not, Sir Adam, that this day week will behold you a 


220 


JANE seton; or, 


Btrong man, and well — yea, with redoubled energies, like those 
whom the Cassida of the pagan Romans restored to life.” 

And with these words the physician retired, leaving Redhall 
to writhe and struggle, in solitude, with his mental and 
bodily agonies — the former outdoing the latter by a thousand 
fold. 

Our learned astrologer enjoyed a great reputation in Edin- 
burgh, and doubtless would have enjoyed a still greater in the 
present day, if we may judge of the success of southern quacks 
and quackeries ; as they, like everything that is English, enjoy 
a vast popularity among the Scottish vulgar. 

At this time Lady Jane Seton was at the porch of the pal- 
ace, from whence Dobbie had dispatched one soldier for the 
Albany herald, and another to Sir John Forrester. On reviv- 
ing, she found herself surrounded by arquebusiers in their steel 
caps, gorgets, and bandoliers, gazing on her with bold and 
scrutinizing eyes. 

“ What manner o’ lassie is this ?” said they, crowding round 
her chair, and winking to each other. “ A dainty bird — i’faith !” 
said one. 

“ What hands ; — how white !” said another. 

“ What ankles !” said a third connoisseur, stooping down. 

Soul o’ my body ! but a glisk o’ these would damn St An- 
thony and St. Andrew to boot !” 

“ I am Jane Seton of Ashkirk,” said she suddenly opening 
her eyes, and looking wildly and imploringly upon them ; “ oh, 
where is your captain, my good soldiers — where is Sir John of 
Corstorphine ?” 

“He will be here immediately, madam,” said one, while the 
rest fell back respectfully and abashed, and several felt them- 
selves constrained to uncover before her, and remove their hel- 
mets. Though every man in the ranks of the royal guard was 
a born vassal and kinsman of the house of Hamilton, that in- 
born respect for gentle-blood which the Scots possess in a 
high degree, together with that generous frankness which the 
camp always teaches, impressed with silence the thirty soldiers 
who occupied the court-of-guard ; and the noisy jests and 
laughter, which first greeted and surrounded Lady Jane, imme- 
diately became hushed. 

Seeing that she was faint and pale, one, without being asked, 
filled his drinking-horn with water and brought it to her. Her 
fine eyes gave him a look of thankfulness that sank deep into 
the honest fellow’s heart, and then she drank thirstily. 


THE king’s advocate. 


221 


; Pulling a ring from her finger, she offered it to him, but he 
shook his head, and drew back, saying, with a smile: — 

“ Nay, lady ; a die sae braw is useless to the like o’ me, a 
puir soldier-lad.” 

. “ But I owe thee something for thy kindness.” 

I “ Ye owe me nothing. Lady Jean ; my mother was a Seton.” 

At that moment Sir John Forrester, who had been summoned 
from his lod^ngs in the palace, and had come forth armed 
with soldier-like alacrity, entered, with his visor up, displaying 
the sad and dark cloud that hovered on his brow ; for the watch- 
ful Dobbie had met him in the palace-yard, and placed in his 
hand the warrant for Lady Jane’s arrest and “ committal to 
I ward,” as they phrased it in those days. 

“ To your arms !” said he, waving his hand to the soldiers, 
who immediately took their arquebusses from the rack, where 
they stood in a row, and leaving the guard-house, fell into their 
ranks before it. 

“ My dear Lady Jane,” said the courtly knig’ t, taking both 
her hands in his, the moment they were left alo e ; “ from what 
has all this frightful affair arisen ?” 

Jane answered only with her tears. 

“ Lady — dear ladr, of what are you guilty ?” 

“ Ask the leaders of your faction. Sir John,” sue replied, bit- 
terly ; “ but ask not me.” 

“ My faction, lady ?” 

“ Thou servest the Court ?” 

: “ Nay, madam, I serve the king, like Sir Roland Vipont 

whose fast friend I am ; and as such, I beg permission to be 
thine.” 

“ I thank you, Sir John Forrester,” replied Jane, with an- 
, other passionate burst of tears; “ but, were my father and the 
Lord Angus here, as of old, I had needed no other friends ; but, 
alas ! the one lyeth now in his grave at St. Giles, while the 
other is a poor and impoverished exile, compelled to eat the 
, br ead of Englishmen. Alas ! I am now totally forsaken.” 

“Nay, Lady; for here stand I, John Forrester of Corstor- 
phine, ready to be your champion ; and as such, to maintain 
your innocence against all men living, body for body, according 
to the laws of battle and of arms.” 

“ A thousand thanks. Sir John ; but remember, Sir Roland 
Vipont claims priority in that. Meanwhile, let me leave this 
place.” 

“ And dost thou know for where 2” 


222 


JANE seton; or, 


“ Oh, yes,” she replied with a bitter smile ; “ for the castle 
of Edinburgh ; be it so ; 1 am not the first of my race who has 
paid dearly the penalty of opposing tyranny. There were Sir 
John de Seton, and his kinsman Sir Christopher de Seton, cap- 
tain of Lochdoon, who were so barbarously murdered after 
surrender, by English Edward, and my grandsire William 
Seton, who fell at Verneuil, fighting against the English, under 
Lord Buchan, the Constable of France, Let us go — let us go ! 
the sooner this frigiitful drama is ended the better. Oh, they 
are good men and gallant soldiers, those courtiers of King 
James — those slaves and parasites of Arran. Sir John, I await 
you.” 

“ But you cannot go thus — on foot, lady. Excuse me, but 
for a moment.” 

He dispatched a messenger to the palace for a horse and a 
pillion, and to beg the favour of a riding-cloak from the Lady 
Barncleugh ; both of which were brought in a few minutes. 

In this inte val, Jane, with great energy but incoherence, 
and amid frequ mt bursts of tears and indignation, had related 
the story of her abduction and retention by liedhall ; but, 
dreading to criminate her brother, or afford, even to this 
friendly gentleman, the least clue to his flight, she blundered 
the whole episode of her escape, and became so perplexed and 
confused, that Sir John Forrester considered the whole affair as 
a mere hallucination, and listened with a face expressive only 
of pity and sincere sorrow ; and thus she found her tale received 
by all to whom she afterwards ventured to relate it ; for the 
reputation for high moral worth and sterling integrity enjoyed 
by Redhall, placed him as on a lofty pedestal, above the reach 
of ordinary calumny, though some men did at times shake 
their heads and look mysteriously at the mention of the gallant 
Sir Thomas of Bombie, whose blood stained the steps at the 
north door of St. Giles for many a year after the era of James V. 

The sun was up and shone joyously on the palace towers 
and the vanes of its ancient porch, on the battlements of the 
traitor’s tower (which Moyse speaks of in his memoirs) and the 
beautiful facade designed by Hamilton of Fimart, when Lady 
Jane was led forth from the pointed archway. 

She was mounted on the pillion behind Sir John Forrester ; 
and thereafter followed by the Albany herald with the warrant 
and a party of the guard marching with matches cocked and 
lighted, she proceeded at a rapid pace towards the castle ; foi 
even at that early hour, the High-street was beginning to b<* 


THE king’s advocate. 


223 


ousy. The guards and waiders were unclosing the portes and 
barriers ; the mercliants were opening their booths, and dis- 
playing their wares under thgse long arcades which then were 
on both sides of the street, and remnants of which still exist in 
several places; farm horses laden with barrels, baskets, and 
boxes, were pouring into the markets, and the water-carriers 
were crowding round the fountains at the Cross and the Mile- 
end. 

A party of the king’s guard, with a knight in full armour, 
and a female prisoner riding behind him, drew the burgesses 
from all quarters to the centre of the street. 

“ Jean Seton of Ashkirk,” flew from mouth to mouth, mingled 
with mutterings of commiseration and hatred, as the sympathies 
or antipathies of the rabble led them. Many there were who 
mourned that one so young and fair should be made another 
sacrifice to the animosity avowedly borne by the king and 
court against that humbled faction which had triumphed over 
both so long, and many there were who remembered the deadly 
strife of 1520 : — 

“ When fctartled bnrghers fled afar. 

The furies of the border war ; 

When the streets of high Dunedin, 

Saw axes gleam and falchions redden 

when, sheathed in full mail, her father, at the head of a hun- 
dred barbed horsemen, had thrice hewn a passage through the 
barricaded streets, giving to death and defeat the spearmen of 
Arran. Many- women, whose husbands and fathers, lovers and 
brothers, had fallen on that terrible 29th of April, recalled their 
treasured hatred as keenly as if the strife of seventeen years 
had been enacted but seventeen hours ago, and openly, bitterly, 
and unpityingly reviled her. 

“ A Hamilton ! a Hamilton !” 

“ Boon wi’ the Setons ! doon wi’ the Douglasses ! Moon wi’ 
the star and the bluidy heart !” 

“ Set her up, wi’ her lace and her pearlings sae braw, when 
an honest wife like me wears but a curstsey o’ flannel !” 

“ Holy Virgin !” cried another crone in a grey cloak and a 
flanders-mutch ; “ and to think I hae taen an awmous frae 
this Seton sorceress ! ’Twas weel I had my relique o’ blessed 
St. Roque aboot me !” 

“ Fie upon thee, thou fause Seton ! Death to the witch 1 
bones to the fire, and soul to Satan !” 

Full of horror at these frightful and opprobrious cries, this 


224 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


poor being, whose gentleness had never created her a persona] 
enemy, surrounded by her guard and a vast mob that every 
moment grew more dense as the street narrowed, arrived at 
the Castle Port, an ancient and massive archway in the Spur, 
which then lay between the castle an^ the town, covering the 
whole of what is now called the Esplanade, and surmounted 
by a round bastion, displaying a flag and more than twenty 
pieces of brass cannon. 

There the governor of the fortress — the strong towers of 
which were looming redly and grimly in the morning sunshine 
above the parapets and glacis of this hornwork — received Lady 
Jane, as the king’s prisoner, from the herald and captain of the 
guard, who drew his soldiers across the Castle-hill-street to 
bear back the tumultuous crowd, whose clamour reverberated 
with a thousand echoes in that high and narrow thoroughfare. 

Bareheaded and ungloved, the castellan. Sir James Riddel of 
Cranstoun-Riddel, a gallant and courtly soldier, received her 
with the utmost respect, and assisted her to alight. As she 
did so her riding hood fell back, and her pale beautiful face 
was revealed to the people, who began anew to murmur vari- 
ously. Then it was (such is the power of beauty) that many 
pitied her, though more still hated and upbraided her ; for the 
tide of common clamour in Edinburgh was against the Angus 
faction, among whom, in camp and council, her father and 
brother had borne a prominent part, having more than once, 
at point of the sword, thrust their vassals as magistrates upon 
the people. 

Confused and terrified by a scene so unusual, Jane murmured 
she knew not what, as her thanks and adieux to Sir John For- 
rester, and gave her hand to the governor, who led her within 
the archway, on the battlements of which was seen the head 
of the Master of Forbes, who a short time before had been be- 
headed for raising a sedition in the Scottish camj) at Fala, and 
attempting to shoot king James with an arquebuse. Though 
pale and exhausted by the terrors of the night, with eyes purple 
and inflamed by weeping, she gave a sad and perhaps scornful 
smile at that strong arch, the massive wall, and iron-jagged 
gate, whereon her father once had nailed his glove in defiance 
of Arran ; but her heart sunk when she really found herself 
within those lofty walls, where so many had pined in hopeless 
captivity ; nor could she repress a shudder when the rattling 
portcullis closed behind her, sinking slowly down with a jarring 
sound between its stony grooves. 


THE king’s advocate. 


225 


The Lady of Craostoun-Riddel, a kind, and (as the Scots 
term it) “ motherly body,” now approached her, and said, — 

“ Lady Jane Seton, in the name of the blessed Mary, what is 
the meaning of all this ?” 

“ Dearest madam, I know as little as thee,” said Jane, throw- 
ing herself upon the bosom of this kind matron, rejoicing to 
find that one of her own sex, who, though even an entire 
stranger, could sympathize with her, and who, in age, appear- 
ance, and manner, so nearly resembled her beloved mother. 
“ Indeed, madam,” continued Jane, sobbing, “ I swear to you 
that I am ignorant of the cause ; but I am accused of murder, 
of sorcery, of treason, and I know not what more, — I, that have 
not the heart 1o kill even the smallest insect. There must in- 
deed be sorcery in this, but not with me.” 

“ My puir bairn ! my puir bairn ! thou must thole mickle, 
ere these dark charges are cleared and refuted.” 

“ Yea, madam ; for, as my brother truly said, we are but the 
victims and playthings of tyranny and misrule.” 

“ Lady,” said Sir James Riddel, gravely, but respectfully, 
“you are here by the orders of James V. and his eminence the 
cardinal, who fourteen days ago sent me instructions to receive 
you, but you had disappeared on the very night his warrant 
was issued. Remember, lady, that the king is the king ; 
besides, my lord advocate — pardon me if my words disturb you, 
for I am a rough old rider of James III.’s days, and unused to 
speaking daintily.” 

Jane shuddered at the name of her persecutor; and hur- 
riedly, but with more coherence than before, began the story 
of her recent abduction, and more recent escape. Again, to 
her infinite chagrin, she found that she was utterly disbelieved, 
for the knight regarded her with a kind but sad smile of Com- 
miseration, as one whom terror had slightly “ demented ;” she 
saw him elevate his eyebrows, and nod perceptibly as he ex- 
changed a glance with his lady, who kindly smoothed Jane’s 
glossy hair, kissed her again as a mother would have done, and 
led her through the Spur, and up the Castle-rock towards King 
David’s Tower. Stung to the soul by this provoking disbelief, 
she became immediately silent, and resolved to explain no more. 

As they proceeded through the vast horn work, which, as we 
have said, covered the whole Castle-hill, between the loopholes 
and embrasures, she obtained glimpses ot the rough bank that 
shelved abruptly down to the loch on the north, and of the 
reedy loch itself, where the wild ducks and swans were floating, 
16 


226 


JANE seton; or, 


and of the bare ridge of pasture land where now the modern 
city is built. 

“ So I am now a captive in the Castle of Edinburgh, while 
my poor mother pines on Inchkeith ! where will the events of 
this dark drama end ?” thought she ; and her heart sank lower 
still as the gigantic gates of tlie Constable’s Tower were closed 
and barred behind her. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE THREE TREES OF DYSART. 


“ f launched my spear, and with a sudden wound 
Transpierced his back, and fix’d him to the ground , 

He falls, and mourns his fate with human cries : 

Through the wide wound, the vital spirit flies.” 

Odyssey, Book A 

At the time when the fugitive earl bent his course towards the 
county (or, as it is popularly named, the kingdom) of Fife, the 
whole length and breadth of it, from the gates of St. Andrew's 
in the east neuk to those of Dunfermline in the west neuk, and 
from the waters of the Forth on the south to those of the Tay 
on the north, was full of terror by the ravages of an enormoui 
wolf, which had established his quarters in the old forest of 
Pittencrief ; from whence he extended his visits as far as the 
woods of Donnibrissal and Falkland, and along the winding 
coast even so far as the cave of St. Mon an. He was somewhat 
particular in his taste, and always preferred little children, 
when they could be had, as being more tender than either sheep 
or calves. He prowled about the most populous burrow-touns, 
and sometimes darted through their main streets at midday, 
making a passing snap at whoever chanced to be in his way ; 
thus those little ones whose occupation it was to fish for pow- 
Towets in the pools of water which then encumbered the 
streets, or made dams and dirt-pies in the gutters, were in im- 
minent danger, for his foraging excursions extended along the 
whole Howe of Fife. 

The wood-cutters were afraid to venture into the forests, 
which made firing so dear, that one or two hapless “ heretics” 
in the castle of St. Andrew’s were not burnt for a whole week 


THE king’s advocate. 


2‘27 


after the Laird of Fynnard, High Inquisitor under Paul HI., 
had solemnly delivered them over to the devil and the devour- 
ing element. The little birds held jubilee in every hedge and 
havvthoxn tree, for their nests were now respected by truants 
and harriers ; while the people nailed additional horse-shoes, 
rowan-twigs, and foxes’ faces on their doors at night ; and old 
wives pinned their stockings and garters crosswise at their pil- 
lows to keep away evil. If the wind rumbled in the chimney, 
as it often did (for lums were of enormous size in those days), 
gudeman and gudewife trembled together in the secrecy of 
their snug box-beds ; for they were assured it could be nothing 
else than the wolf bellowing at the sailing moon. 

The wise men of St. Monan’s kept their kirk-bell (which was 
thought to have miraculous powers) ringing all night to scare 
away the prowler ; but this was soon likely to cause a rebellion 
among the Crail and Kinghorn fishermen, who declared that 
the noise would scare all the herrings from the coast. 

Every night the wolf was heard roaring somewhere, and next 
morning the bones of children or sheep were found on the 
highways, picked as clean as ivory. Superstition increased the 
terrors of the people, who averred that it was visible in many 
places at once. It was said by some to be red, by others to be 
black ; some declared its mouth was like that of a hound, 
others like that of the great cannon, Meg of Threive, or as it 
is erroneously named, Mons Meg. It had the claws of an eagle, 
by one account; a barbed tail, by another; it vomited fire; it 
was a griffin ; the devil — eveiything frightful that folly and 
fear could make it. 

The best and bravest huntsmen had failed to slay or capture 
it ; the sharpest spears had been blunted on its side, which the 
hereditary forester declared to be like a coat of mail ; the fleetest 
dogs had been outrun by it, and the fiercest torn by its fangs 
when brought to bay ; even Bash and Bawtry, the two great 
hounds of James V., on which Sir David of the Mount mada 
many a witty rhyme, failed with this terrible wolf ; and the un- 
happy Fifers were reduced to the vei-ge of despair. 

In the days of king James II. (a.d. 1457), a law ordained 
that for the destruction of wolves the sheriffs of counties and 
bailies of towns and regalities, were empowered to convene the 
men of their districts thrice yearly, “ betwixt St. Mark’s dav 
and Lambmass, for that (saith the Act) is the time of the 
quhelpes ;” and every huntsman who slew a wolf was to receive 
from each parishioner one penny ; and whoever brought the 


228 JANE seton; or, 

wolf’s head to the sheriff, lord, baron, or bailie, should receiv€ 
six pennies. 

Conformably to this law, passed eighty years before, and led 
ill person by the gallant king (who was compelled for one day 
to leave his Magdalene’s couch of sickness and of suffering), 
the whole male population of Fife, with horse and hound, spear 
and horn, bow and arquebuse, had made a vengeful and simuh 
taneous search by hill and howe, by wood and wold, for this 
obnoxious denizen ; but their efforts proved perfectly futile ; 
and the night descended upon a hundred hunting bands, with- 
out their having had even a glimpse of the enemy — at least so 
far as was known of those around the burgh of Kinghorn, 
where the earl had landed about noon that day ; for an adverse 
wind had long detained the little sloop which plied at that an- 
cient ferry. 

On disembarking, he repaired to an hostel house, which bove 
the sign of The King's Horn, for an old tradition asserts that 
as the earlier Scottish monarchs had a castle there, the frequent 
winding of the King’s horn, as he sallied out to the chase, had 
given a name to the little town that nestled on the shore ; but 
the cean-gorm, or blue promontory of the Celtic Scots, still 
frowns above it, to contradict the tale. Then, as now. King' 
horn was a steep and straggling burgh of strange and quaint 
old houses, piled over each other, pell-mell on the brow of a 
hill, and was traversed by a brawling mountain burn, that 
turned the wooden wheel of many an ancient mill. It is over- 
looked by the lofty and rugged precipice, from the summit of 
which Alexander III., when riding from Inverkeithing to his 
castle of Kinghorn, having mistaken his path in the forest, fell 
and broke his neck ; a catastrophe which ended the old line of 
the Macalpine kings, and began the long wars and woes of the 
Scottish succession. 

After a slight repast of cheese, bran-bannocks, and a draught 
of mumbeer, at the hostel, the earl became alarmed on discover- 
ing a proclamation, descriptive of his person, pasted on the wall 
immediately above his head. The unfortunate noble became 
still more apprehensive of suspicion or discovery, as the thirsty 
huntsmen who filled the burrow-toun came crowding into the 
hostel, and on perceiving that two or three were beginning to 
whisper and observe him, for his whole aspect was wild, hag- 
gard and disordered, he resolved, if questioned, to pass for a 
forester like themselves, and, if attacked, to sell his life ae 
deal ly as possible. 


THE king’s .liVOCATE. 


22V 

Appropriating to himself a stout hunting spear which stood 
in a corner of the kitchen, he bade adieu to the sign of The 
King's Horn, and quitting the town, struck into the old horse- 
way that traversed the heights overhanging the coast. 

The sun was now setting. 

Remembering how suspiciously he had been eyed in the little 
hostelry, he grasped the hunting spear, looked warily about 
him, and walked quickly to the eastward, anxious to leave King- 
horn as far as possible behind him. 

The sun set darkly and lowering as he progressed, and the 
last flush of its light fell with a dusky yellow upon the long 
expanse of Kirkaldy sands, and the gigantic castle of Ravens- 
craig, with its round and square towers — a stronghold of the 
Sinclairs — which terminated them. 

“ I have neither money, food, nor shelter,” thought the earl ; 
“ but, praised be fortune, I am at least free !” 

The wind growled along the hollows ; the Firth grew black 
as ink, and its waves rolled white and frothy upon the circular 
sands, where more than one small vessel had dropped all her 
anchors, and made everything secure aloft and below, to brave 
the coming tempest. That vague and indescribable murmur, 
the sure forerunner of a rising storm, was floating over the dark 
green bosom of the German Sea, and he heard it mingling 
with the hiss of the breakers. A tempestuous night was at 
hand, and the hapless earl knew not where to look for refuge ; 
the castle of Kirkaldy-grange, the dwelling of the lord high 
treasurer, crowned an eminence on his left; the fortlet of Sea- 
field, where dwelt the hostile race of Moultray (hostile, at least, 
to him), overlooked the beach on his right ; so avoiding both, 
and the little fane called Eglise Marie, which then occupied the 
hollow between them, he descended the wild and then unculti- 
vated shore, and skirting the long straggling town of Kirkaldy, 
hoped to find a shelter in one of those innumerable caverns with 
which, in many places, the coast of Fife is completely perforated. 

The scudding clouds became blacker and denser ; and their 
shadows darkened all the foam-flecked estuary. Night came 
rapidly on, and by the time when Lord Ashkirk had traversed 
the long and winding sands, and found himself near those stu- 
pendous clifls which were crowned by the great castle of Wil- 
liam Lord Sinclair, baron of Dysart and Ravenscraig, the most 
perfect gloom had enveloped both sea and shore, while the red 
and fiery glow of several salt-pans on the beach, imparted a 
singular effect to the scenery. 


230 


JANE 8ETON *, OR, 


As yet no rnin liad fallen ; but now one of those appalling 
gusts of wind which uproot the strongest trees, and lay bare 
the scalps of mountains, rushed along the bosom of the Forth, 
hurling its waves upon the beach, rolling them sea on sea fat 
along the level sands, and pouring them in a whirlwind of spray 
against the grey and lofty summit of the Ravenscraig. Star- 
tled by the din of the encroaching waves, the earl, by a wind- 
ing path, was rapidly ascending the headland, when^a wild cry 
from the ocean — for there the river was indeed an ocean — made 
him pause and look back. 

“ Mother of Mercy !” ^ he exclaimed, as he held his bonnet on 
his head, struck his spear in the earth, and turned to face the 
storm. 

A terrific glare of lightning revealed for a moment the deep, 
dark trough of seething water, where, in flames and fragments, 
as the levin brand had scorched and rent her, a strong and 
stately ship, with all her masts and yards, her gilded sides, and 
tier of cannon, sank down for ever ! The vision came and went 
with that flash of forky light; and then no more was seen, and 
nothing more was heard but the thunder pealing away over the 
mountains, the roaring of the angry wind, and the deep boom 
of the angrier sea. 

The earl looked wistfully at the vast and opaque outline of 
Ravenscraig, with its stupendous keep and flanking towers, 
amid whose stony depths many a warm red light twinkled, in- 
dicative of comfort within ; but there an avowed foeman dwelt ; 
and he passed the gate without knowing where other shelter 
might be found. He now became more anxious, for a few 
large and warm drops, which plashed upon his face, announced 
that a drenching summer thunder shower was about to fall. 

He had now attained such high ground that even the turrets 
of Ravenscraig were below him, and the wind swept over it 
with redoubled force ; for then the promontory was all desolate 
and bare, though in the Druid days a vast forest had covered 
it. Beneath him lay the little town of Dysart, a closely-packed 
and antique burgh, nestling on the steep and straggling shore, 
full of quaint old-fashioned houses, roofed with stone, and built 
upon broad and low arcades, where the merchants exposed 
their wares ; but, save where a ray of light shone from an open 
shutter or an upper window, the whole town was buried iu 
murky obscurity. 

The roaring of the winds, and the din of the breaker? 
against the promontory, prevented the earl hearing the sound 


THE king’s advocate. 


2.T1 

of liis own footsteps ; and in the gloom he paused irresolutely 
on the brow of this rugged eminence, for now the tall and 
beautiful tower of Saint Denis started up from amid the archi- 
tectural masses of the Black Friary, and seemed to bo imme- 
diately below his feet, yet it was fully a quarter of a mile 
distant. 

He was about to descend and claim the shelter and sanctuary' 
which the Dominican fathers were bound to afford him, for one 
night at least, when a wild and frightful cry, that was borne on 
the wind p^st his ear, made him pause once more, again grasp 
his hunting-spear, and gaze around him. 

All was darkness and obscurity behind ; no object met his 
eye save three large and beautiful oaks, which stood equidistant 
on the hill-side ; and against the gloomy sky he saw their 
gloomier outline, twisted, torn, and shaken as if by the hand 
of a giant, and every moment their wet leaves were swept past 
him on the whirling blast. 

These were the three trees of Dysart. The earl remembered 
the tradition concerning them, which, with the place, the time, 
and the cry, caused a clamorous terror to rise suddenly in his 
breast ; for he was far from being free of the superstitions inci- 
dent to the age and country. 

When all that district was covered by an old primeval forest, 
three sons of Henry Lord Sinclair, who was baron of the Ra* 
venscraig, and justiciar of Kirkwall, were said to have met on 
that spot unexpectedly, and at midnight. Being all in their 
armour, amid the obscurity of the foliage, and under a moon- 
less and starless sky, they mistook each other for robbers, and a 
deadly combat ensued. Two were slain on the instant, and the 
third fell mortally wounded, surviving only till morning, when 
they were all buried at the foot of the trees below which they 
were found. And tradition further states, that when the forest 
was cleared away in course of time, these three oaks were left 
as a memorial, to mark the former state of the ground, and the 
place where the three brothers lay. Lord Sinclair fell at Flod- 
den, fighting against the enemies of his country ; prior to which 
he had granted many a Scottish merk to the monks of St. 
Denis, to say prayers and masses for the souls of the three fra- 
tricides, his sons. 

The story came back to the earl’s mind with all the addi- 
tional impressions that the darkness of the night, the storm, 
Hud the time could lend it; and though the unearthly cry 
made his pulses pause, and his ears tingle, he was too brave a 


1232 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


man to shun any object of terror; and drawing his bonnet weh 
over his eyes, to prevent its being swept away by the furious 
blast, he turned back, and resolutely advanced to where the 
three tall oaks were tossing their solemn masses of foliage 
against the louring sky. 

A dead man lay below each, and the long rank grass which 
covered him was whistling in the dreary wind. 

“ My God ! — the loolf T cried the earl, as a sudden gleam ot 
lightning revealed to him the monster which so long had been 
the terror of Fife and Kinross. It was of gigantic size ; but 
appalled by the fury of the elements, was cowering against the 
centre tree, gnashing its fangs, and darting fire from its eyes, 
with all the hai’* of its neck and back erect like the quills of a 
porcupine. 

Aware that, unless he slew it with the first thrust of his spear 
all in a moment would be over with him, the brave young noble 
charged his weapon breast high, and rushed upon the wolf. 
With a ferocious howl it sprang aside; the weapon struck the 
trunk of th<» tree, broke, and the earl fell headlong among the 
wet grass ^f the grave below it. Then, with the rapidity of 
light, the fnghtful animal was upon him. There was a cloud 
of fire before his eyes, and a wild humming in his ears ; but 
neither tb.e stunning fall, nor the terror of having such an anta- 
gonist, appalled him so much as to deprive him of his usual 
presence of mind, for at the very moment in which it sprang 
upon him, and when he felt its sharp claws in his shoulders, and 
its hot fetid breath in his face, he buried his dagger — that long 
dagger, so recently wet with the blood of Redhall — in its body 
up to the very hilt ; and then its hotter blood came like a de- 
luge over his hand and arm. 

A vital part had been struck, and the wolf rolled over, 
tearing the grass with its teeth, and wallowing in its blood. 
Then full of rage for the temporary terror with which it had 
inspired him, the fierce earl sprang upon it, and buried his 
sharp dagger again and again to the cross-guard in its body, 
though he received more than one terrible laceration from its 
claws, as the agonies of death alternately convulsed and relaxed 
them. Clutching its lower jaw by the shaggy fur, with three 
deep gashes he completely shred off* its head, and then reclined 
breathlessly against the tree. 

“ Well, and so I have conquered thee!” he exclaimed trium- 
phantly, as he spurned the carcase with his foot. “ Devilish 
monster, to me thy head is worth a penny from every man in 


THE king’s advocate. 


23b 


Dy snrt — a goodly sum for an earl, forsooth ! But as I lack 
ihose pennies sorely to pay my way to England, to the High- 
lands, or elsewhere, 1 will even seek the prior of St. Denis with 
my prize, midnight though it be.” 

Tying the four corners of his mantle together, he put the 
head into it, and arming himself with a fragment of his spear, 
descended to the gate of the Black Friary; but as the wind 
srdll blew, the rain lashed the stone walls and grated windows, 
while the sea boomed on the rocks below, and the worthy mas- 
ter porter slept like a dormouse, the din made by the earl at 
the door was unheard. 

“ The great devil confound thee !” he muttered, turning 
away ; “ for I must even go without my pence and my supper 
to boot.” 

Remembe ‘ing his first project of the caverns, he scrambled 
along the rocky and shingly beach for more than two miles, 
until a ray of light, which streamed from a fissure in the 
bluff's, far across the wet sands and tumbling billows, attracted 
his attention. 

Turning to the left, he approached it — the fissure widened, 
and entering boldly, he found himself in one of those long and 
deep weerns, or caverns, which are there so numerous ; and 
immediately a band of outlaws and smugglers surrounded him. 


CHAPTER XXXHI. 

THE WEEM. 


“ Blow ye horns 

And rouse each wilder passion of the soul, 

To drown the voice of Nature ! He must die ! 

He who puts forth his hand to seize a crown 
Must stake his all upon the mighty game.” 

Korner’s Expiation, a Drama. 


•• Oho ! here cometh another guest, whom the high wind hath 
blown us this eerie night !” cried one of the occupants of the 
weem, as the whole party arose and stood around the intruder. 

Tall, strong, armed with a broken spear, smeared with mud 
trom the paw.s of the wolf, and covered with gouts of its blood, 
which hung upon his matted hair and bushy beard, the aspect 


234 


JAN R 8ET0N ; OR, 


of the earl was sufficiently formidable to command the respect 
of the desperadoes among whom he had intruded ; and, at a 
wave of his right hand and arm — the latter being drenched in 
blood to the elbow — they all shrunk back instinctively and 
grasped their clubs and poniards. 

The enormous weern he had entered was one of those caverns 
froni which a part of the coast obtains its names — Wemyss ; 
and though the outer part of it was brilliantly illuminated by a 
fire of drift wood and pine- logs that blazed on the rocky floor, on 
progressing, the earl was impressed with a feeling of awe by the 
uncertainty of the vast profundity to which it penetrated ; for 
the inner end of this frightful chasm or fissure yawned away 
obscurely and horribly into the bowels of the earth. It had, 
doubtless, been formed, like many others along the rocky coast, 
by that wondrous upheaval of the Scottish shores, which geolo- 
gists suppose must have taken place some two thousand years 
ago, or when the sea receded thirty feet from its ancient mar- 
gin, which to this day is visible along the summits of all the 
headlands in Fifeshire and Lothian. 

Though several culinary utensils, Dutch kegs, and tubs were 
placed in little cupboard-like recesses, the cavern did not seem 
to have been long occupied by its tenants, who were six in 
number, strong and muscular men, whose long matted beards 
flowed nearly to their girdles ; and whose attire declared them 
to be partly beggars, partly robbers, and wholly desperadoes. 
That they lived at enmity with their fellow-subjects was appa- 
rent from the multiplicity and aspect of the swords, poniards, 
and pole-axes with which they were armed. 

The earl found, when too late, that he had made an unfortu- 
nate choice of hosts, when such a price was on his head, but 
grasping his broken spear with one hand, and his gory bundle 
by the other, he confronted them resolutely. 

“ Now, who are you ?” asked one who seemed to be the 
leader. 

“ It matters nothing to thee, thou dour carle, so lay down 
thy maul, or beware !” replied the earl. 

“ Then, what are you ?” 

“ A gaberlunzie — a beggar !” said Ashkirk, bitterly 

“ Then, where is thy parish token ?” 

“ I spoke but metaphorically, for I have not yet taken me 
unto that trade; and when I do, I will see king James at Jeri- 
cho, and his parliament too, before I will sew a pewter badge 
on my doublet, tattered though it be. I will not conform 


THE king’s advocate. 


23o 


*.o this new law, believe me, brother rogue. Bat I repeat, 
nevertheless, that I am a beggar, because I seek food without 
having the wherewithal to pay for it ; and, moreover, that I am, 
like thyself, an outlaw. 

“ Gude and better !” replied the other ; “but there is blood 
on thy sleeve ; why, man, thou art red handed !" 

“ Blood ! true — I shed a little in my own defence, and what 
then ? I have committed no murder. Believe me, fellow, 
there is more blood on thy soul than on my fingers. But, 
enough of this. I seek what every man who hath them not 
hath a right to seek from those who hath — food, fire, and 
shelter.” 

“ What is this in your cloak ?” 

“ Something that thou hast no concern with.” 

“We will soon see that,” cried several, laying hands on their 
knives and daggers. 

“ If thou darest !” replied the earl, raising his truncheon, and 
confronting the strongest and the boldest 

“ Byde and baud ye ! Nay, nay,” cried the others, laughing ; 

honour among thieves. Hath he not said that, like oursels, 
he is an outlaw ? Besides, ye will waken that chield in the 
corner.” 

“ Sit down again, you quarrelsome loons,” said the leader ; 
“and seat thyself too, my bold gaberlunzie, with a welcome to 
bite and to bicker.” 

As the earl seated himself, carefully placing his bundle behind 
him, he now for the first time perceived a cavalier, in a rich 
velvet mantle, lying asleep in a nook of the weem, which shel- 
tered him both from the night wind, that blew the smoke and 
brands of the fire into the recesses of the rocks, and from the 
damp atmosphere of the sea, which burst like thunder every 
moment on the adjacent beach. The boots of the sleeper were 
of spotless white leather, adorned with spurs of gold, polished 
and richly chased, with rowels of glittering steel. Beside him 
lay his sword, which was sheathed in blue and embroidered 
velvet. 

“ Who may this gay gallant be ?” asked the earl, as he 
warmed his hands, and, making himself quite at home, kicked 
up the brands to make a blaze. 

“ One of our king’s dainty courtiers,” replied the principal 
ruffian ; a patch over whose left eye nearly concealed the little 
of his frightful visage which was not overgrown with hair 
“ St. Mary ! thou mayest see he is Falkland bred, by those cork- 


236 


JANE seton; or, 


heeled boots and gowden spurs. There hath been a brave hnut 
after the wolf of Pitteucrief, and all the court and countryside 
have driven horse and hound nearly to death, without getting 
even sight or scent of the monster ; so either the wind, the 
storm, or the darkness of the night, his evil chance, or our 
good luck, hath brought this gay galliard hither for a shelter 
and supper, which,” he added, sinking his voice, “ both his cloak 
and purse ” 

“ Breeches and doublet,” said another, in the same whisper- 
ing tone 

“ With his horse, which we have stabled in yonder hole — ” 

“ Yea,” chimed in the earl, “and those dainty boots and 
spurs, shall pay for. Is it not so 

“ Right — we’ll all have a share !” and here the six uttered a 
brutal laugh, and all exchanged glances and winks expressive 
of fun and ferocity. 

“ Meantime,” said the leader, “ waken up his worship, for 
supper is ready.” 

Here one pulled the wearied cavalier by the cloak. He 
started up, and revealed a handsome young face, aquiline fea- 
tures and dark hazel eyes, close clipped beard and dark mous- 
tache. He wore (very much on the right side) a smart blue 
bonnet, with a white feather springing from a diamond St. 
Andrew’s cross. 

“ Mercy ! the king ! ” said the earl, in the inmost recesses of 
his heart, as he respectfully gave place at the fire to the gallant 
and adventurous James V., who had not the most remote idea 
that he was recognised by any one there, and passed for 
nothing more than a private gentleman ; the whole adventure 
being one of that romantic kind in which he — our Scottish 
Haroun Alraschid — delighted. Before seating himself on the 
stone which was to be his chair, he signed the cross upon his 
breast and said : “ Benedicite." 

A mess of rabbits and fowls stewed together in a kailpot, 
another of broiled fish, with cheese and bannocks, which, like 
the small kegs of ale and usquebaugh, had merely cost the 
trouble of carrying them off (at a time when the burgh-mer- 
chants had no other police than their own eyes and hands), 
were freely shared by the thieves with their illustrious guests, 
one of whom they had foredoomed to death. The other, they 
deemed already as one of themselves ; for the earl, the better 
to conceal his real character, assumed a strange dialect, and 
talked, laughed, sung and swore, till he drew upon him the 


THE king’s advocate. 


231 


marked attention of the king ; but under that matted beard and 
tattered attire, disfigured by many a gout of blood, the mon- 
arch failed to recognise the outlawed noble. 

With a hunting clasp-knife, one of those made and inscribed 
by Jacques de Liege (whence comes our Scottish Jockieleg\ the 
king was carving for himself a chicken which he had laid on a 
broad bannock, and was evidently enjoying the repast like a 
huntsman and soldier, for he was both. 

“ By my faith ! knave of the pot,” said he to the robber who 
had cooked, “ thou hast -done thy duty well.” 

“ Ouaye ; we fishbr chields can turn our hands to anything*” 

“ Then turn them to mending the fire ; for dost thou not see 
’tis all gone to cinders ?” 

“A? we shall when we gang to auld Clootie,” replied the 
cook, whose reply was greeted by a roar of laughter, the echoes 
of which seemed to rumble away into the heart of the rocks. 

“ Friend Bloodybeard,” said the king to the earl, “hand over 
that keg of usquebaugh ; wilt drink with me ? thy health, 
friend Bloodybeard.” 

“ Thine, my gentleman of the white feather.” 

“ How gallantly thou drainest thy bicker !” said the king, on 
seeing how the earl emptied his tass of raw spirits; “didst thou 
ever taste pure water, fellow?” 

“ Once, when an infant ; but, as it nearly, choked me, I have 
never tried it since. Tush ! wine costs us no more than spring 
water. Like James and his courtiers of Arran, we help our- 
selves to our neighbours’ goods and gear, whenever we lack.” 

The broad brow of the king knit, but he laughed, and said — 

“ Have the courtiers not wealth enough and to spare, sirrah ?” 

“ Wealth — ah, that is the greatest and most respected quality 
in man.” 

“ But beside wealth, hath not king James many virtues?” 

“ Tut ! these are but a silly habit of differing from such merry 
n\en as we ; but I fear me we scare thee, my dainty gentleman, 
by the din we are making.” 

“ By my word, no ; I should like to see the men who would 
scare me,” replied the king, fishing another pullet out of the 
pot ; “ I am but fulfilling the injunction of the great Plato, who 
said, ‘ live with thine inferiors as with unfortunate friends,’ 
Ho ! by St Anne, Bloodybeard, knock the bottoms out of these 
broiled eggs, or all the Fife witches will be sailing over to 
Lothian in them ; dost hear me ? quick, or I shall report thee 
to the cardinal and his grand inquisitor.” 


238 


JANE seton; or, 


“ The inquisitor — faugh ! he is but a Hamilton,” said the earl, 
who could not jest with the names of his enemies ; “ and as for 
tne cardinal, I say, bah ! he is a mere cannoneer in canonicals 
— a devil in a broad red hat.” 

“ Beware how ye get under its shadow, my fool-hardy knaves,” 
Baid the king, laughing. “Have you looked well to my 
horse ?” 

“Yea, sir, as a man looketh after his own^'^ replied one fel- 
--low, whose ears bore visible marks of the nails which so fre- 
quently had fastened them to many a burgh cross ; and at his 
significant reply there was uttered mother of those low, fero- 
cious laughs, which soon served to put the unwary monarch on 
his guard ; for, like each of his forefathers, James V. was brave 
as a lion. 

“ My gallant grey !” said he ; “ ’tis a gift to me from the Laird 
of Largo, who took him from the Lord Cassilis at Linlithgow 
bridge, on the day of that unhappy battle. I have ridden him 
forty miles to-day, — not a rood less, I am sure.” 

“ After such sore toil,” said the earl, “ hie nostrils should be 
bathed with vinegar, and his breast with warm wine.” 

“ Oho ! thou knowest something of stablecraft, my smug- 
gler, it would seem.” 

“ Few in broad Scotland know better.” 

“And now I have supped right gloriously!” said the king, 
reclining back against the great cyclopean wall of the weem. 
“ Friend robber, thy crail capons and stewed pullets have been 
done in such wise, that even king James’ cook might envy thy 
skill ; and in England, I doubt not, Henry the king would 
have made thee a belted earl ; for he hath just made a baron 
of his cook for the exquisite manner in wliich he broiled a 
mackarel — at lease so my friend the English ambassador said 
to-day, as we rode together near the old castle of Balwearie. 
Hand over that keg again, Bloodybeard,” said the king, and, 
on receiving it, he began to sing a popular ditty of the day : — 

“King James rode round by the Mere-cleugh-heid, 

Booted and spurred as we a’ did see ; 

But he dined and supped at Mossfennan yett, 

Wi’ the bonny young Lass o’ the Loganlee. 

“ Her hair was like the gowd sae braw, 

Like a laminer bead, her deep dark e’e, 

Nor Falkland tower, nor Lithgow ha’, ^ 

Had a dame like the Lass o’ the Loganlee. 

“ ‘ Oh, where is the kingl’ quoth all the court. 

From the great cardinal to the fool, M’llree , 

But the devil a one knew where he was gone, 

With the bonuie )mung Lass o’ the Logaolee.* 


THE KING S ADVOCATE. 


239 


Here the merry king lay back and laughed excessively at 
this hunting song, which had been composed on one of his own 
amorous adventures. 

By this time the thieves had drunk deeply, but their hilarity 
^egan to subside, and their ferocious glances warned their guest 
*hat something unpleasant was about to terminate the noisy 
repast. Under his mantle the king felt secretly for his sword, 
and grew pale as death on discovering that, either by accident 
or design, when he was asleep, the blade had been broken 
in the sheath — leaving him defenceless, with seven armed out- 
laws, in a lonely cavern. He was in the very act of looking 
huiTiedly round for some other weapon to snatch up in case of 
k need, when lo ! one of the ruffians held before him a plate, 
whereon (according to an ancient and barbarous custom) 
lay two naked poniards, as a signal that he was to be sacrificed, 
and might choose with which blade he was to die. 

Instead, as they expected, of being appalled, with the'rapidity 
of lightning the gallant king clutched one in each hand, and 
striking to the right and to the left, buried both weapons in the 
breasts of the ruffians next him. 

“ Dogs and villains !” he exclaimed, “ slipper-helmetted das- 
tards ! come on, if you dare !” 

Armed with mauls and axes, the other four fell furiously upou 
him, and he must inevitably have been slain, had not the earl 
with the truncheon of his spear in one hand, and a burniiio 
I brand in the other, attacked them in the rear, and with 
I such impetuosity that, by two blows, he broke the arm of one, 
the head of a second, and drove the whole from the cavern. 
Thus, in less than one minute, the king and he found them- 
selves, with two dead bodies, the sole occupants of the place. 

“ Well done, friend Bloodybeard !” exclaimed the breathless 
king ; “ by my soul, I thought thee one of them ; and well it is 
for me thou didst strike in such good time. Complete me now 
thy service by cutting out the tongues of these two carrion, 
that I may give them to my hounds,” he added, kicking the 
dead bodies, and untying his purse from his girdle. “ I have 
here only twenty French crowns, but if thou wilt come to Falk- 
-*^land to-morrow, and ask for — for ” 

‘‘ His majesty the king,” replied the earl, whose eye moisten- 
ed, and whose heart swelled, as (instead of kneeling) he drew 
himself proudly up to his full height ; “ replace your purse 
James Stuart; surely Archibald Earl of Ashkirk hath not aunk 
80 far as to be paid thus for fighting in the service of his king.’* 


240 


JANE seton; or. 


“AshlJrkl” said king James, less astonished that he was 
recognised than at this rencontre and discovery. “ Ashkirk, is 
it indeed thee, thou traitor and son of a traitress 

“ I am no traitor, neither am I the son of a traitress ; but an 
outlaw, ce) tainly ; and why ? Because I am the hereditarj 
foeman of the house of Hamilton. False king, thou wrongest 
me sorely, by such epithets as these.” 

“ Ashkirk? it is impossible!” said James, filled witli 

pity at the deplorable aspect of his long-dreaded rebel. 

“ Look at me, king I My years are not yet thirty, and mj 
brow is wrinkled ; for the hand of a tyrant, less than time 
hath touched it.” 

“ A tyrant ? 

“Thou !” 

“ Barest thou say so to my teeth ?” 

“ Ay, thou — James V. ; for thou wagest the quarrels and the 
feuds of the fathers upon their children. By war and death 
thou dost ; revengefully and remorselessly. Thou hast put a 
price upon my head, and hunted me, even as a wild beast, from 
place to place. But think not that I will ever sue for pardon ; 
I will live as my fathers have lived, or die, sword in hand, as 
my fathers have died. Never shalt thou see a Seton of Ashkirk 
among those fawning slaves of the house of Arran, who, watch- 
ing for every passing smile, crowd round thy throne like syco- 
phants — never 1 never !” 

“ This to me 1” cried the king, snatching up a sword ; “ to 
me, from thee, thou parricide, who hast carried fire and sword 
into the heart of thy fatherland 1 Must I tell thee, false earl, 
that, in addition to thy rebellion, all assurance and friendship 
with Englishmen is treason ; that the residence of a Scot in 
England is treason ; that buying from or selling to Englishmen 
is treason ; that all travelling or trafficking with Englishmen, 
by word or writing, is treason ; incurring the penalties of pro- 
scription and death ! Not content with the committal of all 
these crimes, and with levying war against our wardens with 
lances uplifted and banner displayed, I find thee, the boon- 
, companion of thieves and outlaws, who live by slaughter and 
robbery ; by stealing pikes from ponds ; by breaking dowcots 
and orchards ; by lifting sheep and slaying parked deer ; all 
contraventions of the laws passed by my father, James IV., for 
the security of property ; and involving the penalty of the 
SCO iige.” 

“ The scourge 1” reiterated the earl, with a bitter laugh ; “ 1 


THE KING^S ADVOCATE. 


241 


can respect the name of James IV., for he was my father’s 
friend, and side by side they often fought like two brave com- 
rades ; but thou, his son, the ruthless oppressor of the bravest 
nobles Scotland ever saw — who hast thrown the sceptre into 
the scales that justice might be overborne, never ! The scourge ? 
I am indeed degraded, when even a king dare mention it to 
me. Proud and ungrateful prince, hast tuou, indeed, forgotten 
all that thou and thy forefathers owe to the houses of Setoii 
and of Douglas ?” 

“ I have not,” said the king, standing on his guard ; “ it is, 
indeed, a debt of vengeance, so take up a sword and come on. 
Heie, man to man, I defy thee, and repay it.” 

‘‘Nay, nay; it shall never be said that the royal blood of 
Scotland stained the hand of Seton. Ten minutes ago I might 
have slain thee in the mUee^ and there had ended thy Stuart 
line for ever.” 

“To place thy feudal foe of Arran on the throne — eh ? 
That would not have mended matters with thee and Angus, I 
think. But what does royal blood signify ? Art thou not at 
this moment covered with the blood of my subjects? Just 
now, earl, I tell thee, thou hast all the aspect of a gory mur- 
derer.” 

“ Then, behold the head of my victim !” said the noble, as 
from his mantle he rolled at the king's feet the enormous and 
grisly head of the wolf. “ Behold that other head, on which, 
as on mine, your majesty has placed a golden price.” 

Admiration flashed in the eyes of James V. ; he threw away 
his sword, and took the earl’s hands in his. 

“ Oh, Ashkii’k, Ashkirk ! thou triest me sorely ; oh, why art 
thou not my friend ? — but it cannot be ; for thy wrongs against 
thy country, its parliament and crown, are too deep to be easily 
forgiven. For the gallant deeds of this night, I feel that I 
could forgive them all ; but what would my people say, and 
what my peers Cathcart and Lennox, Darnley, Hailes, Lyle, 
and Lord, — all of whom are hostile to thy house ? Besides, I 
have sworn — solemnly and irrevocably sworn never to forgive 
the crime of man or of woman, in whose veins there is one 
drop of the Douglas blood ; and too surely, at this hour, at ray 
own hearth and home, I feel that thy mother and thy sister are 
Douglasses. My poor Magdalene ! — Lord earl, thy crimes 1 
might afford to forgive freely, for they are only those of a rask 
and headstrong Scot ; but the other crimes of thy family 
never — never !” 

16 


242 


JANK SETON ; OR, 


And here, stung deeply by the thought of that supposed 
sorcery which was bringing his queen to the grave, James 
paused, and pressed his hands upon his brow ; and the earl, 
who was ignorant of what he referred to, remained silent and 
perplexed. 

“ Still I could forgive thee, for the memory of my father’s 
friend, Earl John, — that arm of steel and heart of fire — but my 
vow ! — it cannot be. Here let us part ; go on, pursue thy 
wandering way, unfriended and unhappy lord, and may Heaven 
keep thee ! Here, take these thirty crowns from me , — not as 
the price of this wolf’s head, which I will bear with me to 
Falkland, with the story of thy prowess, to shame ray carpet 
knights, but as that gift, such as one friend — one gentleman 
may freely bestow or freely accept from another. There are 
proclamations for thine apprehension posted on every city 
cross, on every burgh-barrier and Tol booth gate, throughout the 
length and breadth of the land ; if thou escapest, I will rejoice ; 
and if thou art taken, I will sorrow ; for, by my father’s soul, 
I must then behead thee before the gates of Stirling. So 
away ! to France, to Flanders, to Italy — anywhere but Eng- 
land, the land of our enemies ; and may the blessed God grant 
that we shall never meet again. — Farewell !” 

And leading forth his horse, for the storm had now died 
away, and the early sun of June had lisen, the king put his 
foot in the stirrup, saying, — 

“ My adventures are wild and strange ; and assuredly, if 
ever old Scotland hath a Plutarch, James V. will live in his 
pages. Adieu !” and with these words, placing the wolf’s head 
at his saddle-bow, the king put spurs to his grey horse, and 
galloping along the sandy beach, rode over the adjacent hill in 
the direction of Falkland, which lay on his road to the Cister- 
cian Abbey of Bal merino. 

The earl stood near the mouth of the cavern on the desolate 
beach, and gazed after the king’s retiring figure, with mingled 
feelings of sadness, hostility, and admiration. Then, after long 
musing and much hesitation, he took up the purse of crowns 
which lay at his feet, and kissing his hand towards the castle 
of the Inch — the prison of Sybil Douglas and his mother — 
walked slowly and thoughtfully along the beach. 

The storm had completely lulled. The sea was mirrored 
around the rocks and isles ; the sky was blue and cloudless. 
The chafing waves broke with a dreamy ripple on the yellow 
sands. The green headlands and bold promontories, the rustic 


THE king’s advocate. 


243 


villages and quaint old fisher-towns that nestled between them, 
were all shining in the silvery haze of that beautiful suminoT 
morning ; but the soul of the young earl was sad. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

THE DEATH OF MAGDALENE. 

“ Envy and calumny will destroy innocence and pleasure ; the oppressed will b« 
sacrificed to the oppressor ; and, in proportion as tyranny makes kings distrustful, judi- 
cial murders will depopulate the state.” 

Telemachtu, Book XX. 

During these passages the young queen Magdalene had daily 
become worse, and the “ catarrh which descended into her 
stomach,” as Madame de Montreuil says in one of her letters, 
had brought her to the verge of the grave. 

The sorrow and alarm of James were great ; and remorse- 
fully he now remembered the warnings of Francis I., contrary 
to whose most urgent advice he had espoused her, instead of 
the blooming Mary of Lorraine. Foreign physicians were sent 
by their kings from distant courts and cities, even from Syria 
and the remote countries of the east, and daily they crowded the 
antechamber with their long beards and longer garments, their 
grave visages and solemn quackeries ; but their presence had 
no other efiect than to bring lower and lower the health of 
poor Magdalene; and to excite the wrath and jealousy of John 
of the Silvermills, who (as the king’s apothecary, and deacon 
of the barber-chi rurgeons of Edinburgh), by the presence of 
these strangers, felt his dignity encroached upon, and his repu- 
tation impugned. 

The love of the amiable French girl for her gallant young 
husband was excessive ; it strengthened as her strength de- 
cayed ; and finding that matters of state separated them long 
and frequently, contrary to all advice, she left Balmerino, with 
its shady woods and mellow air ; and to be near her beloved 
James V., returned to the grey and solemn courts of Holyrooil 
on the eighth day of June. 

There, to the joy of her husband, she seemed to revive a 
little ; and the preparations for her coronation (which was Uj 




244 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


be on a scale of magnificence hitherto unknown in Scotland) 
had been resumed with renewed vigour ; but alas ! on the 
tenth of July, three days after the arrest of Lady Jane Seton, 
she suddenly threw up her hands to heaven and expired, at a 
moment when, stooping over her couch, the king, her husband, 
was playfully caressing and conversing with her ; and the great 
solemn bells of St. Giles, and those of the Abbey Church, the 
Dominicans, the Cistercians, and other friaries, as slowly and 
sadly they tolled a knell, warning all good people to pray for 
the passing soul, announced that direful event which plunged 
the whole land in sorrow ; for James V., “ the king of the 
poor,” was really a monarch who reigned in the hearts of a 
people who were then loyal and generous as they were brave. 

She was solemnly interred by torchlight in the royal vault 
at Holyrood ; and in her strong prison Jane Seton heard the 
deep hoarse boom of the minute guns, as they broke upon 
the still midnight sky from the Towers of King David, St. 
Margaret, and the ramparts of that stately fortress which en- 
closed her. 

So great was the grief of the nation, that this was the first 
occasion of a general mourning in Scotland ; and in the accounts 
of the lord high treasurer there are still preserved numerous 
entries of the Scottish and Holland cloths, French blacks, white 
crosses upon sable velvets, and many other articles for the court, 
together with the expenses of Magdalene’s magnificent obse- 
quies, the dirges sung, and solemn masses said, on that melan- 
choly event, which became the all-absorbing topic of the time. 

The whole nation mourned with the king ; and everywhere, 
at kirk or market, on highway or in burgh-tewn, black cloaks 
and sable feathers had replaced the gaudier colours and fashions 
of the age. A great funeral escutcheon hung in each of the 
eight cathedrals, and over the gates of all the royal palaces. 
Like those used in France and Germany they were lozenge 
formed, bearing the royal arms of Scotland on a black ground, 
surrounded by those of the sixteen families from whom the 
queen was descended. At the four corners were placed (as 
usual among us at the present day) mortheads, and the black 
interstices were semee with powdered tears. 

After the funeral, king James, with a small retinue, retired 
to the solitude of his beautiful country palace at Falkland. 

If the hidden cause of the queen’s illness had puzzled the 
learned physicians and astrologers who had gathered around 
her couch, as it were, from the four winds of heaven, it occa 


THE king’s advocate. 


245 


feioned still greater speculation among the superstitious people 
of Scotland, and a universal whisper of sorcery^ followed by a 
cry for vengeance on the cause of effect so dire, went through- 
out the land, from the Caledonian to the German sea. 

Fettered to a sick bed, suffering under the extremes of mental 
and bodily agony — the double wounds, received first from 
Roland Vipont, and secondly from the earl, all combined, and 
acting upon a frame weakened by a previous illness, had brought 
Sir Adam Otterburn to the brink of the grave. 

His hours of delirium were full of visions either of love and 
delight — of Jane Seton, and a successful suit, or of sanguinary 
horror ; of conflicts, tortures, and executions ; while the hours 
of comparative calm that succeeded — the mere result of uttei 
exhaustion — were occupied by deep laid schemes of avenging 
himself upon the authors of so many miseries. 

His mind had now but two thoughts — a delirium of love and 
a delirium of hate; and they corroded his heart between them. 

He had cast oft’ Jane Seton; for so he strove to think, and 
so, unto himself, he said a thousand times ; he had rent her 
from his heart, and abandoned her to the terrors in store for her. 
'JJien love would come again, and he strove wildly to stifle it 
like a rising flame; for he had given the first impulse to the 
ball of fate, and he resolved to let it roll on its course to 
destruction. 

In his moments of calm agony, when every voice in his heart 
was still but those which whispered of jealousy and revenge, he 
deliberately dictated, and drew up with bitter care, certain 
articles of accusation, implicating Jane Seton wholly and solely 
in the death of the queen, by sorcery of the most malignant 
character; and armed by a warrant, the town mansion of the 
Aslikirk family, which had not been opened since the Albany 
herald, John Hamilton of Darnagaber, had placed his seal on 
every door and lockfast place thereof, was opened, and searched 
by that unwilling functionary, and the witch-finder, Nichol 
Birrel. 

After the dose he had been compelled to swallow, at Cairn- 
table, the latter, it may be supposed, had reached Edinburgh t 
with considerable difficulty ; and, like his master, animated by 
personal and implacable vengeance against Sir Roland Vipont, 
he entered with heart and soul into the public prosecution- 
Thus, when by order of his lord and patron, Redhall, he was 
searching the house of the Setons, he contrived most oppor* 
♦finely to discover in the boudoir of Lady Jane a little wooden 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


rearing a crown, and marked with the initials M. B. Il 
was stuck full of pins, and was partly scorched by fire ; but after 
being duly sprinkled with holy water, and exorcised by the late 
queen’s French confessor, was deposited in the hands of the 
lord advocate, who sealed it up in a box marked with the cross, 
as being the most tremendous and damning proof of guilt that 
had ever come under the notice of the newly constituted college 
of justice. 

With one voice the whole city now accused, and without a 
moment’s hesitation, condemned Jane Seton. The preparations 
for her trial went on rapidly ; and the king, who was absorbed 
in his own grief, and remained secluded among the woods of 
Falkland, abandoned her to her fate ; but the wretched Redhall 
sufiered more than either the hapless Jane or the bereaved king, 
for remorse grew side by side with his anger. 

Those sentiments of generosity, of pity, and of lingering love, 
which ever and anon dawned in the arid desert of his heart, and 
impelled him to free her, to sue for pardon, or to fly his coun- 
try, were invariably stifled under a torrent of jealousy and hate, 
when he thought of Roland Vipont; and then his half-healed 
wounds would sting him anew, as if probed by poniards ; the 
perspiration would burst from his temples, and he writhed cn 
his sick bed in an agony indescribable. 

“ She is indeed a sorceress !” he would exclaim ; upon which 
his nurse and housekeeper, an old and wrinkled dame who 
attended him, and who never left his bedside, would make signs 
of the cross, and feel for the reliques which were sewed in the 
lining of her long piked stays, which, with her ruflf and coif, 
made her resemble those quaint figures which still live in the 
pictures of Holbein. 

Credulity has existed in every age of the world ; and thus 
chiromancy, astrology, physiognomy, and the wildest theories 
of abstruse science, have risen and flourished on the ignorance 
and folly of the human mind ; but there were none that equalled 
the witchmania^ which, strange to say, grew in Scotland, and 
flourished side by side with religious freedom and reform. 

It is a curious fact, that before the epoch of Knox sorcery 
was almost unknown among us. In our earliest record of crimi- 
nal trials, that comprehending the years 1493 — 1504, there is 
not one prosecution for sorcery. In the days of James V. it 
began to be much spoken of, and rapidly became a source of 
terror. Lady Jane’s was nearly the first indictment; but the 
earliest statute against it was nassed in 1563, by the firsJ 


THE king’s advocate. 


247 


reformed parliameDt, and that portion of the law which refers 
to consultations “ with sorcerers and witches ” was not enacted 
until 1594 — full thirty years after the Reformation had been 
established by the law of Scotland. 

Then, indeed, from that period, kirk sessions and presbyteries, 
ministers, elders, sheriffs, and justiciars, went with heart and 
hand into the matter ; for in the witchmania^ that atrocious 
madness which spread over Europe, though Scotland was the 
last to catch the contagion, she was in no way behind neigh- 
bouring countries in the cruelty of her prosecutions. 

According to Barrington, thirty thousand witches were 
burned in England, five thousand perished in three months at 
Geneva, and a thousand at Como in one year. The number 
committed to the flames in Scotland is incalculable, but no less 
than six hundred witches were indicted during the sitting of 
one parliament at Edinburgh. Suspicion, abhorrence, accu- 
sation, trial, and death, followed each other with appalling 
rapidity. 

Thus we find in history, that the savage spirit of ignorance 
and credulity which impelled the great Cardinal Beaton to burn 
six men at the stake, on the charge of heresy, was out-Heroded 
by the still greater ignorance and credulity of his successors, 
who, tor each of these six, sacrificed more than thousands for 
the imaginary crime of witchcraft. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


THE COLLEGE OF JUSTICE. 


•»No ! in an accursed spot— our magic tree, 

Where devils from of yore their sabbath keep— 

Has all this been contrived ; there did she sell 

Her soul to the eternal fiend, to be 

With brief vain glory honoured in this world. 

Bid her stretch forth her arm, and ye will see 
The puncture, by which hell hath marked its own ” 

Schiller’s Maid of Orleans. 


Tr« summer solstice was passed. 

Heavily and louringly the 15th of July dawned over Edin- 
Diirgh ; and one hour after the portes were unclosed, the Right 
Honourable Knight, Sir Simon Preston of Craigmillar, the ne\« 


248 


JANE 8KT0N ; OR, 


Lord Provost of the citj and Admiral of the Forth, entered by 
the Kirk-of-field Wynd, sheathed in full armour, with a party 
of horse ; when, conform to the orders of his eminence the car- 
dinal, John Muckleheid, senior bailie, joined him with three 
hundred archers — the same burgher-archers who had lined the 
streets exactly two months before, on the entrance of queen 
Magdalene. 

A tumult was expected ; very few merchants or chapmen 
opened their booths on this morning; and those between the 
Bell-house and the Tron remained closed. Sir John Forrester’s 
guards were doubled at the palace, the mint, the castle-gate, 
and elsewhere; and after arming themselves with more than 
usual care, vast crowds of burghers poured towards the Exche- 
quer Chambers, or "'Checquer Chalmers^ as they then named 
them. The stacks of heather, broom whins, and of other fuel, 
which were then permitted to encumber the street, either as 
being the property of householders, or for sale, bore each on 
their summit a load of urchins, whose yells and outcries served 
to increase the general clamour. 

A dag was flying on the steeple of the Tolbooth, which had 
t)een built fifty yeare before, by John Mercer master mason * and 
thirteen shops (formed at the same period), in the vaults below 
the edifice, remained closed and barricaded. 

The respect his garb ensured him, and the liberal manner in 
which he said “ Pax vobiscum” to all, enabled the anxious and 
excited Father St. Bernard, on leaving his dormitory in the 
house of the prebendai ies, to force a pjissage through the dense 
crowd which occupied the High-street, around the Exchequer, 
the Tolbooth, and Council-house, spreading even down th« 
steep churchyard of St. Giles. 

The piovost’s kinsman. Sir Andrew Preston, of Quhitehill and 
Gourtown, with a squadron of horsemen, overawed the crowd. 
Clad in a suit of rich armour, he rode up and down the tho- 
roughfare with his long lance, ordering and threatening some, 
or courteously giving admittance to others. The priest pro- 
cured a place within the large hall of the Exchequer, where, 
for some reason now unknown, the trial of his unhappy peni- 
tent was to take place. A strong guard of archers occupied 
the hall-door and the turnpike stair below, permitting none to 
enter without the closest scrutiny, lest armed Setons or Dou- 
glasses might penetrate into the very heart of the place ; for 
tumours of rescue were abroad in the city. 

Roofed with beams of oak, painted and gilded, the hall was 


THE king’s advocate. 


249 


lighted by two rows of windows, lozenged and stained with 
brilliant coats of arms. Those on the east faced the dark build- 
ings ot a narrow close ; those on the west overlooked the church- 
} ard of St. Giles ; thus, as the sun could not (until mid-day) 
penetrate its recesses, the light within the hall, at the early 
hour of eight, when the court began to assemble, was of the 
most subdued and sombre kind. 

At the upper end were fifteen chairs, behind a bench, all 
covered with scarlet cloth, whereon sat Walter Mylne, abbot 
of Cambuskenneth, lord president of the recently instituted, and 
then eminently obnoxious court of judicature, with his fourteen 
lords, — viz., the abbot of Kinloss, the rector of Ashkirk, the 
provosts of Dunglass and of the Holy Trinity ; the deans of 
Brechin, Restalrig, and Dunbar, who sat on his right hand ; 
while the remaining seven, who were laymen — the knights of 
Balwearie, Lundie, Easter- Wemyss, Oxengangs, and of the 
Highriggs, Sir Francis Bothwell, and Otterburn of Auldhame 
(a cousin of Kedhall) — sat upon his left. These were the first 
fifteen senators of the College of Justice in Scotland ; and, save 
the churchmen, few of them could sign their names. They 
were all men advanced in life ; and, with their black caps and 
scarlet gowns, looked grimly over the half circular bench, 
which was raised on a dais several feet above the floor of the 
hall. 

Headed by Lord David Hamilton (a son of the Earl of 
Arran), their chancellor, or, as we would now term him, their 
foreman, the jury, which was principally composed of Hamil- 
tons, occupied a recess on one side of the hall ; while the ten 
advocates, in gowns of Paris black, with a number of swore 
notaries, had the privilege of occupying the other. A tall wax 
candle, painted over with religious emblems, burned on the 
right hand of the president ; and coldly its light fell upon his 
pinched and stern features and the gold crucifix which glittered 
upon his breast. 

Before him, on one hand, w^as a table where the clerks of 
court sat, intrenched up to their ears in papers.; on the other 
stood an uncouth machine, covered by a black cloth. There 
was something in its aspect which made the blood run cold : it 
was the rack, with other instruments of torture. They were 
then in full use by the new court, but were last applied in 
Edinburgh by order of William HI., whom the Scottish people 
will ever remember as the assassin-king — the butcher of 
Glencoe. 


260 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


Near tliis, in a large arm chair, hidden from the view of all 
save the lords, sat Redhall, buried in thought. 

Macers in black gowns, and archers in steel caps, were visi- 
ble here and there; but everywhere behind the bar was a 
dense crowd, whose heads were overlooking each other in close 
rows, like piles of cannon-shot. Tlie whole court sat in the 
form of a horse-shoe ; and every lord’s mouth, and every jury- 
man’s too, bore some resemblance to the same figure ; for 
gloom, anger, and severity, were impi-essed upon them all. 

The bar enclosed the ends of this great horse-shoe; and 
there, between two arquebusiers of the king’s guard, sat Lady 
Jane Seton. 

Destitute of every ornament save an amber rosary, she was 
plainly attired in a deep-skirted and close-bodied dress of blue 
silk, with hanging sleeves, each of which, from the elbow, had 
three rows of broad lace; and beneath these, from elbow to 
wrist, her round white arms were bare. A simple, triangular 
cap, of that graceful fashion which we see in the old portraits 
of Anne Boleyn, covered her head. She was pale as death, 
and the plain braids of her dark, almost black-brown hair, 
made her seem paler still. She had become fearfully thin and 
hollow cheeked, but the character of her beauty was rather 
increased than impaired by this attenuation. 

There, was an expression of intense sadness in her quiet and 
limpid eye, and of sorrow on her lip ; but there were times 
when her eyes flashed, and her lip quivered with surprise and 
contempt, or a cloud of horror would descend upon her brow 
at the various proceedings of this new court, and the bitter 
humiliation to which it subjected her. But now, nearly broken 
in spirit, crushed, and feeling that she was for ever degraded 
by the frightful accusation brought against her, in general she 
was careless of what was done, or said, or thought of her. 

There was something antique in her beauty ; but nothing 
could be softer, purer, or more delicate than its aspect. 

Ill silence she heard the low muttered revilings and exclama- 
tions around her ; when harassed by the stern questions of the 
hard-hearted and the credulous, or confounded by their energy 
and ferocity, their determination and their sophistry, she 
became utterly silent, and sought to bend all her thoughts on 
inward prayer. 

A maze was before her eyes, and amid that maze were fifteen 
scarlet spots, her fifteen judges ; a confused murmur was in her 
ears, but amid that murmur she could hear the beating of her 


THE king’s advocate. 


251 


own heart. In its inner recesses there was but one thought — • 
Roland j and her heart only shrunk when her chain rattled ; 
for they had chained her. 

She was a witch ! 

Many a familiar face was in the crowd, yet not one deigned 
to look on her with kindness or with friendship. The terrible 
accusation had frozen the hearts of all ; thus she saw less per 
haps ot sorrow than ot indignation in every face \ while, gene- 
rally, a silence the most profound reigned throughout the whole 
assembly. 

In Scotland trials for sorcery were mere formalities ; the 
same blind terror and insane credulity which brought forward 
the accusation and hurried on the decision, led at once to the 
frighttul condemnation. When first indicted, Jane had some 
hope of mercy, and that her perfect innocence might avail her ; 
lor sorcery was then a new crime, and there were many who 
totally denied its existence ; but the moment she entered the 
court, and looked on the faces of her judges, and saw that 
there were eight Hamiltons in the jury box, she felt that her 
doom was wi-itten, and gave herself up for lost — as the majority 
of votes form the opinion of a Scottish jury. 

The proceedings of the Supreme High Court of Justiciary in 
1537, the year of its birth, were, in detail, widely difterent from 
what they are to-day ; and such was its informality, that there 
was not one witness for the defence, the counsel for which 
based his argumen'ts solely on the blameless life, the innocence, 
and conscious rectitude of the accused. 

“I am innocent!” Jane would sometimes repeat to her- 
self; “and they dare not punish me — God will not permit 
them !” 

The clerk of court now stood up to read the indictment, 
which was written on a strip of parchment : 

“ Jane Seton, most falsely designated lady and of Ashkirk, 
thou art delated by the king’s advocate for procuring the death 
of umquhile the queen’s grace (whom the blessed Lord assoil- 
zie 1) by sorcery and incantations procured from hell ; thou art 
accused of having a familiar spirit; of having renounced thy 
baptism, and having upon thee the mark by which Satan dis- 
tinguishes all who have sold themselves to his service.” 

“ Of these crimes against the laws of God and of man, of 
nature and our holy Christian church, Jane Seton, art thou 
guilty, or art thou not guilty ?” asked the abbot Mylne, sadly 
and solemnly. 


252 


JANE seton; or, . 


Thrice the question had to be repeated before she was roused 
from her apathy to reply. 

“ Guiltless, father abbot — guiltless of such crimes — even as 
the blessed Mother of all compassion herself was guiltless,” she 
replied, gently but energetically ; “ and this day I call upon 
her to hear the truth of my assertion ; and the unhappy never 
seek her aid in vain.” 

A murmur floated above the crowd of spectators ; and Jane’s 
head again sank on her breast. 

Like a sharp poniard, her voice sank into the heart of Red- 
hall. He now arose, and with a paper in his hand — a pape^* 
which he nervously folded and unfolded — prepared to speak. 
He looked like an animated corpse ; his long flowing gown of 
black Parisian cloth, the sable hue of his beard and moustache, 
contrasted forcibly with his livid complexion. His eyes were 
hollow, and a ghastly agony was impressed on every lineament 
of his face ; but attributing these appearances to his long and 
recent illness, the whole court, from the lord president down to 
Sanders Screw, the torturer, pitied his sufferings, and admired 
his worth and unflinching energy as an officer of state. 

He dared not turn towards the prisoner, but spoke with 
averted eyes, which the court attributed to his gallantry and 
extreme delicacy of feeling. He endeavoured to condense the 
whole hatred of his heart against her ; but love would come 
again, and they wrestled fiercely for the mastery. His heart 
swelled within his breast, and his brain became wild. He had 
two existences, and two hearts — one which loved, and one which 
hated — one that longed to possess, and another that longed to 
destroy her. 

Then it would seem that he loved her as of old, and was 
prompted to avow his passion and his guilt, and, asserting her 
innocence, poniard himself before the court ; but again his mad 
and murderous longing for revenge would come back upon his 
heart like a devouring fever, and thus he loved and thus ab- 
horred in the same moment. Strange, wild, and inconsistent, 
his was the love of a devil united to the frenzy of a destroyer ; 
he felt that it was so, and there were times when he doubted 
his own sanity. 

The die was cast now, and a thousand eyes were bent upon 
him, and a thousand ears were listening. He made a tre- 
mendous effort to master his fierce emotions and open the 
prosecution; and being aware that there were many among 
the judges who doubted and even denied the existence of 


THE king’s advocate. 


263 


witchcraft, he bent all his dangerous eloquence to prove the 
first position. 

“ My lords,” he said, with a voice that, from being soft and 
flute-like, had now become hoarse and hollow — though it 
sounded like a serpent’s hiss to Jane. “My lords, there may 
be among us those who decline to admit that witchcraft existeth 
in the world ; albeit, divines cannot doubt it, for have not the 
words of God admitted that such things may be ? In the 
eighteenth chapter of Deuteronomy, we are told that diviners, 

* enchanters, consulters with familiar spirits, witches, and necro- 
mancers, ‘are an abomination unto the Lord;’ and further, the 
twentieth chapter of Leviticus saith, ‘the soul that turneth after 
such as have familiar spirits, and after wizards, I will even set 
my face against that soul, and will cut him off' from among the 
people ;’ while the Mosaic law emphatically ordained that no 
witch shall be suffered to live. We need not, most learned 
loids, look so far back for proofs that sorcerers and charmers 
existed, and do exist ; it must be apparent to every reasonable 
being that what hath once been may be again, for nothing is 
impossible either to God or the devil ; and the ancient chroni- 
cles of Scotland, and of every other kingdom, teem with proofs 
of sorcery. The heathens of the olden times visited witches 
with the most dreadful punishments; the Persians dashed out 
their brains with stones ; while we know that the Assyriano, 
Chaldeans, the Indian Gymnosophists, and the Druids of Caie- 
donia, were addicted to the deepest sorcery. By the laws of 
Charlemagne, a witch who ate human flesh escaped for tw( 
hundred sous, which shows (as in the present case) that sorcery 
was not confined to the lower class of society. 

“ The emperor Manuel Comnenus punished sorcerers with 
the utmost rigour; and the blessed St. Patrick procured fire 
from heaven to destroy nine of them. St. Colme saw a wizard 
milk a bull, as we are informed by St. Adamnan, for the saints 
are constantly watching Satan, the prince of hell and promoter 
of mischief ; and if so, how much more ought we, who are their 
servants, to watch sorcerers and witches, who are the slaves of 
the devil ! 

‘‘ The witch of Endor feared to practise her sorceries before 
the king, because he had put to death all who had familiar 
spirits ; and so great was the indignation of God against the 
sin of sorcery, that he cut off the ten tribes of Israel because 
tliey were wedded unto its abominations. John de hordiin 
records, that in the days of that good knight and gallant king; 
I 


254 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


William the Lion, a wizard who perverted the vision of the 
people, was defeated by a holy man reading even a passage 
from the blessed Gospels. 

“Among the Romans, Publius Marcius and Pituanus were 
executed for this crime ; as also were Publicia and Lucinia, 
with three score and ten other citizens, as Valerius Maximus 
informs us in the third chapter of his sixth book. Hence, to 
deny the existence of witches, is to deny the veracity of all his- 
tory, ecclesiastical as well as secular ; and thus sorcery, being 
the greatest of all human crimes, as it includes heresy, blasphemy, 
and treason against God, involves the most severe of all human 
punishments — death by fire — for fire is the emblem of purifi- 
cation. 

“ Picus of Mirandola, who lived in the last century, asserts 
in his writings, that ‘ magic is not founded on truth, since it 
depends upon powers that are enemies to truth and further, 

‘ that there is no one power in heaven or earth but may be put 
in motion by the words of a magician and he proves that 
words are efltectual in incantations, because God made use of 
words in arranging the universe. 

“ My lord advocate to the point,” said the president, drily ; 
“ in many parts of his writings, Francisco Picus was a rank 
blasphemer.” 

“ The prisoner at the bar is accused of procuring by sorceiy , 
and the aid of magic images, the death of umquhile the queen’s 
lamented grace, whom Heaven assoilzie ! I accuse her of this, 
and boldly.” 

“ To the proof,” said the abbot of Cambuskenneth, as Red- 
hall paused, and faltered. 

“No difficult task, my lords,” he resumed. “I need not 
expatiate on the hereditary hatred borne to the king, the queen 
and court, by the houses of Ashkirk and of Angus. Consan- 
guinity is ever a strong proof of sorcery. The countess dow- 
ager of Ashkirk hath long sustained an evil reputation as a 
dabbler in magic. If the mother be a sorceress, we hold it in 
law, that the daughter must infallibly be so too. It is the 
inheritance of hell, and descends, as the children of married 
saints inherit a share of heaven. Arrian records that prophecy 
was hereditary, like disease ; and why not sorcery ?” 

A murmur of assent replied. 

“ Hence, reared by her mother, the prisoner brought her 
damnable and abstruse studies to greater perfection ; the pupil 
surpassed her teacher; and it was in her boudoir that this image, 


THE king’s advocate. 


2.55 


which is coated over with wax and stuck full of pins, was yes- 
terday discovered by an officer of this high court — an officer 
whose veracity and worth none will dare to gainsay.” 

Here Master Birrel smoothed his shock pate ; pulled up his 
ruff, which was stiffened with whalebone, and looked compla- 
cently around him. 

“The good queen’s gradual illness and wasting away from 
the hour of her landing, was the slow but matured work of 
sorcery ; and such the most learned physicians and apothegara 
have declared it to be. My lords and gentlemen, here are 
written copies of the proofs,” lie added, as his clerks and scribes 
distributed to the bench and jury a number of written papers; 
but the said clerks or scribes might have saved themselves 
the trouble, as few of the learned lords, and not one of the 
intelligent jury could either read or write. Neither had yet 
become fashionable or necessary accomplishments. “There 
you will find,” continued the lord advocate, “ that the queen’s 
grace was first bewitched at the ball in Holyrood, where the 
Lady Seton induced others to dance a measure diabolique, 
which is well known to be in use among the witches of France; 
and as they danced, so the queen’s illness increased with won- 
drous rapidity. That night her majesty kindly gave the pri- 
soner her hand to kiss ; then lo, again the power of hell ! the 
kiss burned into her heart, and she sank into a deadly faint. 
In both kiss and dance, my lords, we will prove there was 
sorcery, as the abbot of Kin loss assured me at the time. We 
all know how much Satan hath achieved by the agency of 
dancing, on looking back to the fits and visions of the Convul- 
sionists, who in 1373 appeared at Aix-la-Chapelle. There is a 
certain mountain of the Harz chain in Almainie, where, on the 
first of May every year, all the witches and wizards of the 
earth rendezvous to dance on Valpurgis nighty as they name it. 
Now la volta, the hell-dance, was the ancient measure of the 
orgia, the feasts of Bacchus, a god of the pagans — a demon 
who loved wine. It came from Italy to Spain ; from Spain to 
France ; from France to Scotland. 

“To the second proof. The prisoner with others visited the 
booth of Master Mossman, jeweller to the king’s majesty; and 
there placing on her head the queen’s new crown (a notable 
piece of Douglas presumption), said certain words, to the effect 
that, she would never live to wear it^for her days were numbered^ 
and these ominous words we have here six witnesses to prove. 
Oh, my lords, did they not clearly and prophetically indicate 


266 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


a foreknowledge of the queen’s death, obtained by the assist* 
ance of that familiar spirit who resided with her in the quality 
of page ? Lastly, this image, half roasted and perforated by 
ninety-nine pins, and marked with a crown and the letters M. B., 
for Magdalene Bourbon, — my lords and gentlemen, can other 
proof be wanting ?” 

Here he held up to view, between a pair of small iron 
tongs, a little wooden figure, about eight inches long, having 
on its head a crown. 

“ Mother of God !” muttered the people, crossing themselves 
with horror, at these accumulated proofs. 

That death may be produced by wasting images, I could 
adduce a thousand instances ; but less will suffice. In the 
year 980, our own king Duff, who pined under a grievous 
illness in Murrayshire, was rescued from death when the witch 
was burned and her images broken. The severe illness of 
Charles VI. of France was caused by sorcery, and the witch 
was bairnt ; so was another, who, in conjunction with the devil, 
forged a deed in favour of Robert of Artois. The powers of 
inflicting and of allaying diseases were peculiar to sorcerers ; 
the mother allayed — the daughter inflicted. Solomon could 
allay disease by incantations, and Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, did 
so by one touch of his great toe. Magic water may have been 
thrown on the queen’s person ; for we know that a few drops 
from Chosopis, the enchanted river of the Persians, brought 
death to all on whom they fell. As the fire scorched and 
wasted this image, even so did the poor queen waste and sink. 
Observe, my lords, it is formed of jome.” 

“ The pine was consecrated, by the heathens of old, to Pluto, 
King of Demons,” said Lord Auldhame. 

“ And wherever the unhappy queen endured the most severe 
pains, — in her head, in her heart, or the region of the stomach, 
there we find the greatest number of torturing pins. There are 
seven in each eye, and, like three, seven is a mystical number. 
I have but one remark more, my lords. This image was origin- 
ally that of one of the three kings of Cologne; it has been al)- 
stracted from the rood screen of St. Giles, and made to serve 
for that of her umquhile majesty queen Magdalene.” 

“ Sacrilege ! sacrilege !” cried the crowd of listeners ; “ blas- 
phemy and heresy ! ” 

“ All of which assuredly require the most severe penalty 
your lordships can inflict— death at the stake !” and as the lord 
advocate sat down, pale and exhausted by his long harangue, 


THE king’s advocate. 


257 


, and by the wild misanthropy of his desperate soul, the horror 
waxed strong in the hearts of his hearers. 

“ Holy Mary !” exclaimed the lord president, raising his hands 
and eyes to the oak ceiling, “ can this woman, this being 
abandoned of God and of man, be a daughter of that gallant 
race, every chief of which has bled for Scotland and its king { 
Oh, what a wondrous — what a vast amount of sin is here !” 

ISIaster Robert Galbraith and Master Henry Spittal, the most 
able of the ten advocates, spoke in the defence of the accused, 
long and ably, but all their arguments were overborne by the 
sophistry and eloquence of Redhall, and by the cloud of wit- 
nesses for the prosecution, which proceeded with sucn rapidity, 
that they were soon silenced, and sat down completely baffled. 
Then a long and anxious pause succeeded. 

Father St. Bernard was in despair. 

A senator now spoke ; he was the rector of Ashkirk. 

“ My lords,” said he, “ in all that I have this day heard, 
there is much that perplexes me sorely ; for it seemeth that the 
same faculties which were miracles when exercised by the 
saints, we style sorceries when assumed by others. St. Servan 
of Lochleven converted water into wine, and from the bosom 
of the arid earth a fountain sprang at the voice of St. Patrick. 
St. Baldred of the Bass used as a boat that rock which we 
may still see fixed in the sea near his island ; the wooden altar 
of St. Bryde of Douglas sprouted and put forth leaves at her 
holy touch ; the robe of St. Oolme procured rain in Iona ; and, 
in the winter time, St. Blaise could strike fire with hia 
fingers ” 

Here a stern glance from the abbot Myhie cut him short, 
and he paused. 

“ The blessed saints of whom thou speakest, my lord, wrought 
those wonders by the aid of Heaven alone, and not by the agency 
of a black spirit. Of late, the devil hath frequently appeared 
at the preachings of the reformers as a black cat, and why may 
he not appear elsewhere as a black boy ?” said the president. 

“True, most reverend and learned lord,” rejoined the meagre 
little abbot of Kinloss, “ need I remind your lordships how ray 
predecessor, abbot Ralph, now in company of the saints, when 
holding a chapter of the Cistercians at Kinloss, a.d. 1214, be- 
held the devil, yea, as surely as my name is Robin Reid, beheld 
him in the shape of an Ethiopian, enter by a window ; but ou 
being exorcised in good Latin, he vanished in smoke.”* 

^ See John de Fordun’s “Scotichronicon.” 

n 


258 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


“ True, true,” continued Redhall, incoherently ; “ and by a 
devilishly devised compact with this familiar, she assigned he*’ 
soul to Satan for the powers given ” 

“Proof?” said the doubting rector of Ashkirk ; “ where is 
this contract ?” 

“In the archives of hell — therefore, how can we produce 
it ?” 

The judge sat down silenced, and a cold smile flitted over 
the face of Redhall, whose usually impassible front, the Cumaean 
sybil herself could not have read ; but he looked anxiously at 
the abbot of Cambuskenneth. 

“Would that I knew what is passing in thy bald head, thou 
shaven dotard !” thought he. 

“ Familiar spirits are usually black,” said the president ; “ the 
vile impostor, Mahomet, had one in the shape of a black cock, 
which, when it crew, set all the cocks in the world crowing ; 
and the Lord Hugh of Zester had a black demon named Oude- 
shovel, who dug for him his goblin hall beneath the surface of 
the earth. The unhappy prisoner having persisted in denying 
her guilt, I require a slight application of the torture, and an 
examination for the devil’s mark, that the ends of justice may 
be duly satisfied.” 

Redhall, who had been but half prepared for this, felt his 
heart die within him, and he made a convulsive start. 

“ The torture ! the torture ! Oh, riather let me die ! Holy 
abbot — my lords — I ask you not for pardon, because I am in- 
nocent. I think not of vengeance, because I am a woman — 
and though an earl’s daughter and an earl’s sister, a poor and 
helpless one — but I implore death, because ye have dishonoured 
me by these accusations and by these bonds — cruelly and 
falsely dishonoured me. Put me to death, but not to the tor- 
ture ; for oh, I am weak, very weak, and will tell you anything. 
Let me die 1 let me die ! Oh, save me. Sir Adam Otterburn — 
oh yes, everything — thou who hast done it all, save me from 
these frightM men !” 

As Birrel and Sanders Screw approached the shrinking girl, 
with their stolid visages and huge hands, though half suffocated 
by sobs, she gave a low, wild cry of agony and horror, and 
closing her eyes, became perfectly passive. The judges looked 
on unmoved ; a thrill pervaded the hearts of the people, and 
Redhall felt the perspiration trickle over his brow, though his 
blood ran cold through his veins. 

“ Oh, Roland, Roland ! my love ! my love ! I am dying now,’' 


THE KING S ADVOCATE. 


260 


said Jane, in a low voice (that was heard by Redhall alone), 
as she was lifted from her seat. 

Kedhall’s momentary pity died ; he sat down with one of his 
freezing smiles — such smiles as can only be given by one who 
has alike outlived the hopes of his heart and the feelings of 
humanity. 

“ The torture^" repeated the lord president. 

Redhall dipped his pen mechanically in the ink-stand, and 
Dobbie uncovered the rack ; then, as every man respired more 
freely, a low but unintentional hiss seemed to pervade the halk 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE RACK THE DEVIL’s MARK. 

•* It on the rack you strain our bursting^ sinews ; 

If from the bleeding trunk you lop our limbs ; 

Or with slow fires protract the hours of pain, 

We must abide it all.” 

Boadicea 

As yet neither the boot nor thumb screws had been adopted 
by the Scottish courts ; the ancient rack alone was the instru- 
ment of torture, and now it stood before the eyes of the startled 
people in all its naked and mysterious horror. Though totally 
repugnant to the fundamental laws of Scotland, which are 
based on those of Rome, the practice of obtaining confessions 
by torture in the Privy Council and High Court of Justiciary 
was not discontinued until a hundred and sixty years after the 
date of our history, in the reign of William III. who, whatever 
he was in South Britain, will ever be remembered in the north 
as one who was merciless as a Mohawk. 

The rack, which Dobbie had uncovered, was a large frame 
of oak, raised three feet from the floor, like a long, narrow bed 
without spars, but having two rings at the head and two at the 
foot. The aspect of this engine, with all its accompanying 
blocks, pulleys, chains, and handspikes in the sockets of the 
windlass, froze Father St. Bernard with horror. He crossed 
himself, beat his breast, and closed his eyes. 

Old and withered, with a long beard and a hollow-jawed 
sardonic visage, with leering eyes, a fangless mouth, and bandy 


260 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


legs, Sanders Screw, the torturer and headsman — the presiding 
genius over this infernal machine — looked like an overgrown 
imp, as, with his Concurrents, he hurried agilely from ring to 
ring, and from rope to rope, putting the whole in working 
order. 

Agnus Dei /” muttered the old priest, who, in a little vol- 
ume which he wrote, has transmitted an account of tiiese things 
to us ; “ all this for one frail body ! May heaven make it with- 
out feeling, even as the hearts of those around us !” 

Powerless and unresisting, Jane was'borne between Sanders 
Screw and Nichol Birrel towards the rack, and placed within 
its frame. Birrel remembered Uoland Vipont and Douglasdale; 
and, trembling with joy and revenge, made himself more than 
usually active. The costume of Screw and his two Concurrents 
had something strikingly horrible in it; their doublets were 
scarlet — the judicial colour in Scotland — but their brawny arms 
were bared to the elbow ; and they wore dirty leather aprons, 
extending from their necks to their knees. Lady Jane’s gar- 
ments swept the floor, and her long hair, which became un- 
bound as her triangular cap fell ofl', floated over the shoulder of 
Screw as he adjusted her in the frame. Then a shudder came 
over her as the rings and cords were secured to her ankles and 
wrists, her beautiful arras being extended at full length above 
her head, revealing the exquisite rounding of her bust and 
waist. The whole arrangement did not occupy a moment. 

While in this frightful and humiliating position, with her 
head supported in the hands of Screw’s apprentice, and her 
blue silk skirt drooping on the floor, Redhall dared not look 
towards her, but sat down beside the rack, and bent his blood- 
shot eyes upon the blank sheet of paper, whereon the coming 
confession was to be written. He trembled excessively. On 
the other side was the physician, who attended all such ques- 
tioning — John of thd Silvermills — clad in deep mourning, like 
all the courtiers and dependents of the king, with a white St. 
Andrew’s cross on his black velvet mantle, and having a large 
f ouch at his girdle, wherein were various revivifying drugs and 
essences. 

Gently, but unceremoniously, the greater part of Jane’s attire 
had been loosened by the rapid application of a pair of scis- 
sors. 

“ Now, then, the devil’s mark,” said the lord president, shad 
ing his eyes with his hand, and peering forwai-d over his desk 

Nichol Birrel, sworn pricker of the High Court, now aj 


THE king’s advocate. 


261 


p*’oaclied with his needle, and ruthlessly uncovered the whole 
neck, shoulders, and bosom of the unhappy girl. Her skin was 
dazzlingly white, and shone like polished ivory in the sunlight 
wiiich streamed through the deep mullions of the windows 
above her in many hazy flakes. 

“ Oh !” she murmured, and shuddered, while the hot, bitter 
tears were seen to ooze from her closed eyelids. An icy sweat 
burst over Redhall, to behold that beautiful figure extended, 
almost nude, before so many unpitying and so many voluptuous 
eyes. His agony was tiightful. He could have screamed 
aloud ; and, to prevent himself doing so, buried his fingers in 
his breast beneath his robe. And there she lay, with a form 
that might have passed for Venus — one so delicate by nature 
and by nurture, with her slender wrists and round white ankles 
enclosed by strong iron bands, and her uncovered bosom sub- 
mitted to the eyes of so many men, and the rough paws of the 
ruflian Birrel. 

There were a few generous hearts in the crowd who cried 
shame ! and more than one gallaai hand sought the hilt of a 
sword. 

A pink spot, like a little rose-leaf, was discovered between 
her bosom and her waist, and to this the pricker, after making 
the sign of the cross and other preparations, applied his hrod^ 
or needle, which was three inches long, and, to the horror and 
astonishment of all, it sank up to the very handle in the mark, 
without Lady Seton wincing once, or seeming even aware that 
she was touched by the instrument. 

Again and again the operation was repeated, and the pity of 
the generous few became blended with the fear and repugnance 
of the many. 

“The mark of hell — the signet of Satan is always thus,” 
said the "Lord Kinloss; “for it is lost to all sensation, and 
deadened to the touch of every instrument — it is bloodless.” 

The long sharp needle of Birrel was pure and bright, as well 
it might be ; for it was constructed like a theatrical poniard, to 
retire into the handle with the slightest pressure. 

Blank dismay was impressed on every face. 

Thrice Redhall asked her, in a hoarse and hollow voice, to 
confess, and thrice she gazed at him wildly, but made no 
reply ; for the powers of life seemed already to have forsaken 
her. He then made a signal to Sanders Screw, and turned 
».way his head. 

Sanders, with his wrinkled and fibrous hands, grasped the 


262 


JANE seton; or, 


handspikes of the windlass as a seaman would, previous to 
starting an anchor. Then, with the whole weight and strength 
of his meagre body, the wretch suddenly depressed them, and 
every joint of the unhappy being cracked in its socket. 

Father St. Bernard muffled his head in his cowl, to shut out 
the fearful sound. 

She uttered a cry, the horror of which contrasted strangely 
with the sweetness and melody of her voice. Redhall felt as 
if he could have expired; and, in unison with her, he uttered a 
groan so painful and full of despair, that it must have startled 
all, had it not been blended with the cry of Jane. 

“ Mother of God ! Mother of God ! I will confess — I will 
confess ! Oh, Roland, Roland !” 

At these words Redhall bent his head towards the floor, for 
he felt that he had the face of a Nero, the eyes of a fiend, and 
he gave another of his horrible smiles. The name of Roland 
recalled his hatred, and that hatred triumphed over terror and 
compunction, as ferocity did over feebleness. The bars were a 
little relaxed, but she was not loosed until the following ques- 
tions were answered : — 

“Jane Seton,” said Redhall, in a calm voice, and with an 
equally calm visage, for, being master of himself, his whole 
aspect was now as still as if the stormy passions which con- 
vulsed his heart were dead; “Jane Seton, dost thou confess to 
the damnable, the treasonable, and blasphemous sin of compass- 
ing and procuring, by sorcery and idols, the death of umquhile 
the queen’s grace, of good memorie ?” 

“ Oh, have mercy upon me !” she murmured. 

“ Dost thou confess it ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Attend, clerks of court. Thou dost confess to having a 
familiar imp in the shape of a black page, who became the 
father of thy little devils ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Um — uin — coitus cum diabolo^^ muttered a clerk of court, 
writing. 

“ How many ?” 

“ I know not.” 

“Another proof of deep sorcery,” said the lord president, 
“ for the witches of Germany have been known to have twelve 
imps at a birth.” 

“ And thou didst suckle these uncounted devils at the mark 
on thy bosom ?” 


THE king’s advocate. 


2G3 


** Yes, yes ; ob, hast tliou no pity ?” 

“ Thou false heretic, apostate, liar, and renounccr of thy bap- 
tism, thou dost confess to having read English books, contain- 
ing the dark and damnable heresies of ” 

“ This belongs to another court,” said the abbot Mylne. “ My 
Lord Advocate, we have no jurisdiction here in ecclesiastical 
matters. Surely, my lords, no further proofs are required ?” 

The capped or cowled heads of the fourteen lords shook or 
nodded in assent, and, at a word from Redhall, Jane was un- 
bound and replaced on her seat ; where, with a pale, distorted 
face, and half insane aspect, she gazed about her, with terrified 
I eyes, between the dishevelled masses of her hair. Her hands, 

I weak, trembling, and almost dislocated, endeavoured to restore 
the disorder of her dress, but failed in their office. 

The physician kindly parted her hair, and drew her disor- 
* dered dress over her uncovered shoulders. 

“ Unhappy lady,” he whispered, putting something between 
I her lips, “ take this comfit — it renders one almost invulnerable 
to pain ; though it be not such as those to which the divine 
x\rtesius owed his eternal youth and health. But it is the es- 
I sence of a wondrous herb ; for whatever God planteth, hath its 
good or bad qualities.” 

! Without hearing him, intent only on retracting her rack- 
extorted confession, she gathered her hair back from her pallid 
face with trembling hands, and arose, but only to sink power- 
lessly on her seat, tor her limbs now refused to sustain her, as 
her tongue refused to speak ; for though her bloodless lips were 
moving, they uttered no sound. Forced by the torture, a 
i ‘bright streak of pink was oozing from her nostrils. 

Again she essayed to speak, but now the jury, without being 
charged, and without retiring — for such were not then the cus- 
L' toms — by the voice of their chancellor unanimously declared 
i her guilty ; and after a brief muttering and bending together 
of cowled heads, the abbot of Cambuskenneth proceeded at 
f once to pass the sentence. 

[v Taking off his black monastic cap, he raised his eyes, and 
“ ^ was heard muttering something “ in nomine Patris, et Filii, et 
Spiritus Sancti, et benedictae Nostrse Dominse Sanctissimae 
Mariae .... thou false sorceress,” he said, suddenly resuming 
his cap and raising his voice, — “thou heretic, blasphemer of 
thy God and renouncer of thy baptism, for the crimes com- 
‘ mftted and this day doubly proved against thee by witnesses 
I and frorq confession — I adjudge thee tq be taken tq the Castle- 


264 


JANE seton; or, 


hill of Edinburgh at twelve o’clock on the night of the feast of 
St. Margaret the martyr, five days from hence, and there to be 
burned at a stake, until thou art consumed to ashes, which shall 
be scattered to the four winds of heaven, and this I pronounce 

FOR DOOM !” 

The priestly president ended his sentence by extinguishing 
the candle which stood at his right hand — an emblem of death, 
or that hope was gone for ever. Thereupon, Dobbie the doom- 
ster, clad in sackcloth braided with white cord, and having a 
white cross and skull sewn on his back and breast, approached, 
and laid a hand upon her shoulder, signifying that she was now 
his peculiar charge. 

Those lords who were priests waved a benediction to the 
people, so much did they (by mere force of habit) mingle reli- 
gious with civil ceremony ; then the whole bench arose, and the 
macer shouldered his mace; but at that moment the clash of 
swords was heard, and a violent uproar arose at the door of the 
Exchequer Hall. 


-CHAPTER XXX VH. 


THE GAGE OF BATTLE. 

“ In an evil hour I left her. 

Left her! more I need not say ; 

Since in my absence came another 
Lover, all my peace to slay. 

I a captive, he a freeman, 

Ah ! our fates how different ; 

Since your arm hath made me captive, 

See how justly I lament.” 

Calderon’s Constant Prince 

Above the clang of steel and the trampling of feet, a voice was 
heard that thrilled Jane to the heart; and though feeble, aided 
by the iron railing of the bar, she suddenly arose, with her 
hands outstretciied and her beautiful eyes bent towards the 
doorway, where the pike points were glittering above the head# 
of the crowM. Love and despair gave to her aspect a courage 
and sublimity which vividly impressed the hearts of all. Be- 
tween the thick stone mul lions and grotesque tracery of a tail 
gothic window, and through the painted glass, the ferenoon sun 


THE king's advocate. 


2C5 


shone brght and joyously, lighting up her features with a radi- 
ance and beauty, the more remarkable by the fantastic prisms 
of the oriel, and she stood like a beautiful Pythoness. 

As she turned away, Redhall ventured to gaze upon her, 
which he had not yet dared to do ; for he felt that he trembled 
whenever her glance fell on him. She was but the spectre of what 
she was, and it was he who had made that havoc 1 A beauti- 
ful though hectic colour had momentarily replaced her frightful 
pallor, but he knew the emotion that caused it. The old whirl- 
wind of passion arose in his heart, and he sank into a chair. 

The clank of armour, the noise and swaying to and fro of 
the crowd continued. 

“ A rescue !” said the president, and all his brother senators 
drew" towards him, and grew pale. 

“ Nay, think not of it, my lord,” said one, the Knight of 
Auldhame, loosening his sword in its sheath; “for those lances 
of Sir Andrew Preston are more than guard enough.” 

At that moment Roland Vipont, master of the king’s ord- 
nance, bi-oke through the mass of people, and approached the 
bench, with his armour rattling and his spurs clanking as he 
walked. He was cap-a-pie, with his visor up, and his plume 
was covered by the dust of a long summer march. With his 
sword drawn in one hand, and his gauntlet in the other, he 
appeared before the startled tribunal. 

Ghastly and pale with fury and fatigue, he looked grimly at 
the bench beneath the steel bars of his aventayle ; and with ar 
air which he alone, above all the Scottish noblesse possessed 
confronted them like one valiant Trojan in a Grecian camp. 

“ Father abbot, my lord president, justice — I sue for justice !” 
said he. 

“ And how darest thou come hither in armour to seek it ?” 
demanded the president, with kindling eyes. 

“ Armour is my garb, because I am a knight and the king’s 
soldier ; besides, I dare do whatever becometh a Scottish man,” 
replied Vipont ; “ and I this day stand before you to deman 
justice at the sword’s point ?” 

“ It has already been given I” 

“ Priest and judge though thou art, I tell thee thou liest ! 
And here I lay down tlie gage of battle in accordance with the 
laws of Scotland, of justice, and of chivalry, binding myself to 
maintain with the edge of this good sword, and by the aid of 
the blessed God, on foot or on horseback, in the lists of Edin- 
burgh, or at the Gallowlee of Leith, that Lady Jane Setou is 


26C 


JAWE 8ET0N ; OR, 


pure and innocent of the crimes alleged against her — pure as 
when Heaven created her, and that all men who uphold the 
contrary lie — foully lie ! Here lies my glove !” and he hurled 
the steel gauntlet on the table with a clash which made the 
clerks of court start from their seats with dismay ; for, like all 
limbs of the law, they had a mortal aversion to cold iron in 
every shape. 

There was a momentary pause ; and Redhall, who gazed 
with gloating eyes upon the lover’s agony, felt half inclined to 
take up the gage, for notwithstanding his unruly passions and 
studied vengeance, he was both brave and rash ; but the stern 
voice of the president arrested him, saying, — 

“ Sir Roland Vipont, this claim for the ordeal of battle comes 
too late, and cannot be admitted. She has fully and amply con- 
fessed ; besides, this man hath found the mark of hell upon her 
bosom !” 

“ Her bosom — this man — ^John Dargavel !” exclaimed Roland, 
startled on perceiving the person whom he had compelled to 
swallow his own poison. 

“ Nay — no John Dargavel, but a reputable officer of court,” 
said the president, who felt some compassion for the agony 
expressed in the young man’s face. 

“ A villain, who excited the lieges to rebellion in Douglasdale, 
and to a resistance of the royal standard, which occasioned me 
the killing and wounding of a dozen brave soldiers.” 

“We have had enough of this,” said the president, impa- 
tiently ; “ the poor youth is so blind with passion, that he would 
not know a hawk from the heronshaw. Break up the court — 
away, sir ! torture hath been applied, and the ends of justice 
are satisfied.” 

“ Torture — justice !” reiterated Roland, in a voice like a shriek, 
and looking with terror at Jane, who stretched her feeble arms 
imploringly towards him. “ Lord, Lord, look down upon me, 
and preserve my senses. Oh, have ye dared, cowards and 
slaves ! is it justice, by rack and torture to wrench confession 
from the lips of a poor and helpless woman ? Smooth fronted 
villains, is there not one among ye who will dare to take up my 
gage ? Sir William of Balwearie, Sir John of Loundie, Sir 
Adam Otterburn of Auldhame, do you hear me ?” 

Not one of the seven lay senators moved. 

“ Truly, thou art either a madman or a hero !” said the old 
president, gazing on the armed knight with admiration ; “ but 
doom hath been pronounced, and the sorceress must die 1” 


THE king’s advocate. 


267 


“ Die /” repeated Roland, with a fierce smile. “ And coldl} 
thou sayest this ? Oh, lord abbot ! dastard judge ! dost forget 
that thou growest old, and a day cometh when thou too shalt 
die, and be called to account for this misused authority ? Art 
thou a god to create, that thou darest thus coolly to destroy ; 
not like a gallant soldier in the heat of battle — but coldly, 
calmly, and without anger ? But I see it all now ; and though 
this moment be my last, I will avenge Jane Seton on Redhall — 
the angel on the demon ! See how pale the coward is before 
the brave man! Art thou blanched, Sir Adam, with fear, 
with fasting, or remorse ? Wretch and villain ! who makest 
use of the laws to cloke thine own infamous projects of lust, 
ambition, and revenge ; thus in face of thy deluded compeers, 
the just God gives thee over to me — at last — at last I have 
thee 1” 

And rushing upon the lord advocate with his long sword 
drawn back for a deadly thrust, he had infallibly run him 
through the body had not two of the provost’s guard resolutely 
interposed their halberts, the heads of which he hewed off by 
one blow. 

“Oh, the fule!” said the host of the Cross and Gillstoup^ 
who was among the crowd. “ My thirty crowns 1 I may 
whistle on my thumb for them noo 1” 

A cry of mingled fear and admiration arose from the people ; 
it drowned poor Jane’s far wilder one of terror, and she made 
frantic efforts to free herself from the arquebusiers, and to 
succour or die with her brave lover, who, on being pinned 
against the wall by more than twenty long pikes, was soon 
beaten down, pinioned and disarmed. 

As he fell, Jane thought they had killed him, and uttered a 
cry of despair ; all her energies, so briefly recovered, immedi- 
ately forsook her ; the light left her eyes ; her heart forgot to 
beat. She became perfectly insensible, and was re-conveyed to 
the Castle of Edinburgh in a litter, under the care of Father 
St. Bernard and John the physician. 

“ It matters not, this poor victory !” said Roland, with a 
bitter smile ; “ it matters not, Redhall. I will unmask thee yet, 
thou subtle villain, and show our too credulous king the true 
aspect of the viper he has nourished so long.” 

“ Guards ! away with him — to ward I” cried the advocate 
furiously, as he signed a hastily-written warrant; and in one 
hour from that time Roland found himself committed to the 
care of Sir James Riddel of Cranstoun- riddel, on a charge of 


268 


JANE SKTON ; OR, 


high treason and attempting to murder in open court Sir Adam 
Otterbuni of Redhall. 

The excitement in the city was great. 

The whole garrison of Sir James stood to their arms, and 
buckled on their harness ; the brass culverins of the Spur were 
loaded ; the gates were closed, and bridges drawn up ; while a 
crowd composed of thousands covered the south and north sides 
of the Castle-hill up even unto the very ramparts of the horn- 
work, nor dispersed until long after the lingering sun of Jul; 
had set behind the hills of Dunblane. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
THE earl’s daring. 


“ Dione, then : Thy wrongs with patience bear 
And share those griefs inferior powers must shais 
Unnumbered woes mankind from us sustain. 

And men with woes afflict the gt>ds again.” 

Thel> , 

A FEW chapters back, we left the Earl of Asli-v.rk alone upon 
the solitary beach near the cavern, on the mo.uing of that day 
which beheld his unhappy sister for the first jme an inmate of 
the Castle of Edinburgh. 

His more bitter feelings of hostility to James had been 
soothed, for the monarch possessed the charn of the Stuart race 
— that charm which won the hearts of all wh< m they addresseo ; 
but being still unforgiven. Lord Ashkirk fell himself an outlaw 
with the axe of the doomster hanging over his head, while he 
had to suspect a spy or a foeman in every man he met. 

With his eyes fixed on the island castle where his mother and 
Sybil Douglas of Kilspindie were imprisoned, with all his 
thoughts. centred there, and bent on visiting and freeing them 
from the thraldom and captivity of a Hamilton, he walked along 
the sandy shore, revolving a thousand rash, but gallant plans 
and projects. 

He was buried in deep thought, and gradually his head sank 
upon his breast. 

A draught of water from a spring, a bannock and a piece of 


THE king’s advocate. 


269 


cheese received at a cottage where he tarried, and, in the hos- 
pitable fashion of the olden time, asked for it without shame, 
and obtained it with welcome, sufficed him for food ; and retra 
cing his steps, he wandered westward up the margin of the 
broad river, until he reached the little kirktown of Wester- 
Kin ghorn (which now bears another name), lying behind the 
Burnt-island, nestling under the brow of hills that are upheld 
by basaltic columns, whose summits have been scorched by 
volcanic fire, and whose rifted sides have repelled the waves of 
the antediluvian world. 

On the high and rocky island, which, though it has now 
become a promontory, was then completely surrounded by the 
sea at high water, stood a tower belonging to the Duries of 
Durie. 

Crossing the sandy neck or isthmus while the tide was low, 
the earl concealed himself among the copsewood which covered 
the island on the eastward, from whence he had a view of 
Inchkeith, distant about three miles, reddened by the setting 
sun which covered with a golden tint the calm, broad waters 
of the Firth.^ 

The wood was in full foliage, and cast a pleasant shade upon 
the rocks, which were spotted with grey lichens or covered with 
verdant moss. Here passed the day ; and evening came, with 
silence and darkness, for even the stillness of that lonely isle 
became more still. The wild bees and the buzzing flies forsook 
the cups of the closing flowers for their homes in the hollows 
of the old pine-tree ; the notes of the mavis and merle died 
away ; the deer came no more to drink of the stream that 
trickled from the rocks, and the foliage of the isle became moist 
with the falling dew. 

As if in contrast to the storm of the previous evening, the 
night came on clear, cloudless, starry, and beautiful. 

Avoiding that side of the isle which was overlooked by the 
Duries’ castle of Ross-end, the earl sought the beach, where a 
few fisher boats were moored to rings in the rocks of a lonely 
creek. 

The place was deserted, and not an eye beheld him. Ilis 
resolutions and execution were brief: selecting the smallest, he 
sprang on board, east off the painter, and seizing a pair of oars, 
each one of which would have required an ordinary man to 
handle it, he pulled away from the shore with a strength and 

* Firth, from Mori; not Frith, from Fretum, as Dr. Johnson errc 
neously supposed. 


270 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


activity that the sturdiest of our fisher-wights might have viewed 
with satisfaction and envy. Though as accomplished a knight 
as ever rode to battle, the earl was somewhat of a seaman, foi 
his father’s castle in Forfarshire looked down on Lunan Bay. 

He was master of the little bark both by sail and oar ; and 
knowing somewhat of the dangerous navigation of that stately 
river, avoiding those perilous rocks known as the Gunnel, on 
gaining the mid-stream, he set the brown lug-sail, which the 
unsuspecting proprietor had prepared for the little fishing voy- 
age of the morrow, and, favoured by the ebb-tide, the current, 
and a soft west wind, bore with the speed of a sea-gull straight 
down towards Inchkeith. 

If the wind freshened, he had a thousand chances to one of 
being swept helplessly out into the German Ocean ; but the 
bold earl never thought of that. 

Alone in the middle of the broad and rapid Firth, its aspect 
seemed to him magnificent, as the deep red light that lingered 
behind the western Ochills tinged all its waves with a purple 
hue ; but their foam became a shower of silver, and white as 
winter frost, when it broke against the shining clifi’s, whereon 
rose the castle at the west end of the island. 

As the earl had resolved on freeing his mother and Sybil 
from their captivity, his natural boldness prevented him from 
seeing any difficulty in achieving this project, though he was 
alone in the enterprise, armed only with his poniard and an old 
sword which he had picked up in the brawl of the preceding 
night, and though the castle was commanded by Sir James 
Hamilton of Barncleugh, with a small but chosen party of 
soldiers. 

“ If a Seton could fear, I should certainly be afraid now,” said 
the earl, on seeing how the waves burst in foam on all sides of 
the Inch — one moment sinking low, to show the reefs, which 
rose like jagged teeth above them, and the next dashing in tor- 
rents against the black volcanic bluffs. “ Tut ! by the I’ope ! 
whal a mouthful of salt-water !” he added, as the spray was 
blown in his face, when he dashed his boat through the break- 
ers, and then running along the lee of the shore, struck his sail, 
and slowly crept near the little creek, which there forms the 
only landing-place ; for on the east rushes the whole current 
of the Firth, and on the west breaks the thundering force of the 
German Sea. 

The night had now come oi., and solemn stillness reigned 
upon the isle. 


THE king's advocate. 


271 


The gates of the square tower which crowned its highest 
summit were closed 5 but here and there a red ray glimmered 
from the deep windows of its dusky mass. 

“ One ot these lights,” thought the earl, as he gazed upward, 
“ may shine on my dear Sybil’s dark glossy hair and snow 
white brow.” 

The tide was low, and he ran the boat into a little cavern 
which lay near the creek ; it was, in reality, but the top of a 
deep chasm in the rocks, having a clear sandy bottom, where 
he could distinctly perceive the layers of dark pebbles, of 
bright shells, and waving sea-weed, far down below, when the 
clear moon rose above the Lammermuir, to shed its radiance 
on the heaving water. 

Resolving to wait till midnight, when all the inhabitants of 
the town most probably would be asleep, and when, with more 
security, he could make a reconnoissance of the isle and the 
barbican wall, the earl guided his boat into the narrow little 
fissure which is one of many that perforate the island. While 
endeavouring to prevent its jarring on the flinty rocks, he was 
greatly alarmed by perceiving a human figure spring oflf a 
shelf of the volcanic wall, and plunge heavily into the deep 
dark water of the chasm, which penetrated, he knew not how 
far, into the heart of the island, but which, as it receded, 
became more appalling by its utter obscurity and subterranean 
character. 

Incident to the age, rather than the man, the earl’s superna- 
tural fears of kelpies, gnomes, and water-spirits, now became 
altogether secondary to the dread of having been discovered by 
some human denizen of the place. He felt for his poniard, and 
paused. Behind him yawned the pointed arch of the cavern, 
with the distant sea-beach shining in the moonlight ; before 
him lay rocks and water buried in darkness. He lingered, oar 
in hand, scarcely daring to breathe, but heard only the ripple 
of the rising tide, as it chafed on the walls of the chasm. 

Suddenly, another sound smote his ear, that as of a diver 
rising to the surface ; then came a hard breathing on the 
water, and the regulated plashing as of some one swimming 
away into that very obscurity which the eaiTs eyes ached with 
regarding, but failed to penetrate. His hair bristled, and his 
heart quailed with momentary terror of a spirit, or evil thing ; 
but from that very terror he gathered a courage, and by hi? 
oar and hands, feeling the rocks on each side, shot further in 
his sharp-prowed boat, intent on overtaking the swimmer, and 


272 


JANV. SETON ; OR, 


discovering whether it wa‘4 a man or devil ; but he had not 
gone twenty yards when the chasm terminated in a sheer wall 
of rock ; and again he paused- to listen. The dash of ihe water 
had ceased. 

He thought he heard ether sounds, like those of footsteps 
clambering up the rock ; but feared he was mistaken, for all 
became immediately still, and he heard only the murmur of the 
water as it boiled among the reefs without. 

“ Tush !” thought he, reddening with shame at his own 
alarm ; “ it has only been oome poor seal or sea-dog basking 
on the rocks in the summer moonlight. By midnight the 
moon will be in the west — till then let me sleep, for these two 
last nights I have never closed an eye and looping a rope 
round a pinnacle of rock, he securely moored the boat, and 
reclined within it to sleep. 

Such was the effect of the weariness oppressing him, that in 
three minutes he was buried in profound slumber, rocked by 
the motion of the boat, which gently rose and fell on the undu- 
lations of the water ; for though around the isle the swell was 
heavy, the waves being broken by the jutting of the rocks at 
the cavern mouth, they rolled gently and smoothly into its 
dark recesses. 

Now while the earl all unconsciously was sleeping, this little 
cavern of the sea was filling fast ; for as the rising tide of the 
German Ocean "met the downward current of the Forth, the 
water rose rapidly against the impending walls. 

Ashkirk knew not how long he slept, when he was suddenly 
awakened by an unusual sound, and, on attempting to rise, 
struck his head with violence against the stone roof of the cave, 
close up to which his boat had floated on the rising tide. 

His situation was fraught with danger and horror. 

Moored fast to a point of rock now far beyond his reach, the 
boat was wedged between the top of the cavern and the sur- 
face of the swollen water, leaving him thus imprisoned, coffined, 
as it were, in utter darkness, and with the deadly fear that the 
whole of this now submarine grot would be covered by the 
gurgling tide, in which case he would assuredly be drowned, 
“ and die the death (as he thought) of a rat in a drain.” 

The partial gleam of moonlight which had illuminated the 
mouth of this frightful trap had n^w passed away, and the 
darkness within and around it seeme.i palpable and opaque. 
He could no longer discern where the entrance lay, and diis 
heart sank in the fear that the water had risen over it. Ho 


THE king’s advocate. 


273 


now heard the wavelets rippling, with a thousand hollow 
echoes, in the fissures and recesses, and gurgling wiih a sucking 
sound as they filled each in succession, and rose towards the 
gunwale ot his boat, which had become perfectly immovable. 

And the tide was still rising ! 

He found that he could not survive ten minutes longer. 
Already the air was stifling, and the necessity of making one 
desperate struggle for life became immediately apparent. Lying 
almost on his back, he groped breathlessly around him, and 
discovered a vacant shelf of rock upon his right. Clambering 
within it, he found with joy that it led to an inner and upper 
cavern. He had scarcely left the boat when, with a hoarse 
gurgle, the tide rushed in and filled it. 

As he ascended, a faint red light now flickered on the dark, 
stony walls of this slimy retreat ; then, indeed, the heart of the 
gallant earl began to tremble, as his dread of supernatural 
beings returned. He remembered the strange figure which had 
disappeared so suddenly into the lower cavern when he first 
entered it. Again the terror of the water-kelpie came vividly 
upon him ; for, in that time, all Scotsmen feared that evil 
denizen of their native seas and lakes. 

Though dark, damp, and slimy, it was evident to the earl 
that the water did not usually rise so far as this upper retreat ; 
and as the light reddened and increased around him, it revealed 
the solid masses of whinstone rock which composed the enor 
mous walls of this subterranean vault. Here and there were 
columns of basalt, or perpendicular lava, with masses of 
sparkling spar, pitchstone, and porphyry. Still, this strange 
and crimson light brightened and wavered, dying and growing 
again, till, overcome by dread of dwarfs and fairies, or spirits 
still more fell, several seconds elapsed before the earl removed 
his hand from his eyes, and looked steadily around him. 

At the upper end of the grotto, which measured somewhere 
about twenty feet square, there burned a fire of wood, green 
bushes, and crackling sea-grass ; and thereat was seated — • 
neither a witch brewing hell-kail, nor a wizard working spells ; 
neither a stunted dwarf forging fairy trinkets, nor some fair 
water-spirit rising in her naked beauty from a silver shell, but 
simply a man roasting one of those wild rabbits with which the 
island has in all ages abounded, and who, with his breath, was 
blowing aside the smoke, which curled to the upper air through 
a chasm in the roof. 

Lord Ashkirk paused irresolutely ; for, in advancing, ha 

18 


274 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


might fall upon an enemy, and, in retiring, he would inevitably 
!ali into the water, which murmured angrily in the cavern 
below. The whole aspect of this subterranean rock was wild 
and strange ; and though he stooped immediately over the red 
embers that gleamed on a shelf of basalt, the intruder failed to 
discover his features. 

Suddenly, something familiar in the attitude flashed upon 
his memory. 

“ Sabrino !” he exclaimed, and approached him. 

Sabrino — for this mysterious personage was no other — 
turned round, and bounded backward with a terror which was 
ludicrously expressed by the blue aspect of his usually sable 
visage, his dilated yellow eyes and expansive mouth, in the 
recesses of which he rolled about the voiceless fragment of his 
mutilated tongue. 

“ 0 — ah !” he stuttered, capering with terror, “ 0 — ah — ees 
a mee !” 

“ Now, by St. Mary ! I thought thee the devil himself roast- 
ing some poor man’s child. Why art thou not attending my ^ 
mother in that rascally old tower above us? How earnest 
thou to be hiding thus, and in a condition so dilapidated? 
But first of all, how is my Lady Sybil — tush ! I waste ray time 
in questioning thee, poor pagan, who art incapable of Christian 
speech.” 

As Sabrino’s whole vocabulary consisted of a few guttural 
sounds, a vast number of contortions of visage and shark-like 
grins, which were seldom very intelligible to any one save the 
countess or Lady Jane, who had acquired a knowledge of his ' 
meaning by habit, an answer to the earl’s three questions was 
not to be expected. After his first terror, and the extravagance 
of his after-joy had subsided, his story, if he could have told it, 
might have been related in a few words. 

The blow inflicted by the oar had neither killed nor stunned 
him ; for, luckily, that portion of his frame whereon it fell, 
namely, his head, was stronger, by nature, than a casque of 
steel ; thus, he merely sank to come up again a few yards dis- 
tant ; but he dared neither to swim after the boat, nor return ^ 
to the tower where his mistress was imprisoned, and from v 
which he had been so unceremoniously repulsed. Full of - 
hatred and fear of the white men among whom his evil fortune 
had cast him, the unhappy black page had found this shelter i 
when pursuing a rabbit by moonlight among the rocks. Ex- 
ternally, a thick clump of whin-bushes concealed the fissure 


THE king’s advocate. 


276 


that gave admittance to this upper grotto, where, for fourteer 
days, Sabrino had lurked, coming forth only at night to pick 
up food and shell-fish, crabs, mussels, wilks, and other debris 
ot the ocean on the beach, and to catch the wild rabbits as 
they slept among the long reedy grass in the moonlight. 

During the day he remained close in his retreat ; for he 
knew well that Sir James Hamilton’s men in the tow^er would 
'lave thought as little of shooting him, by bow or arquebuse, 
*s of winging a solan goose. 

In these fourteen days, much of the original savageism of 
African’s aspect and disposition had returned. He looked 
Kvinl, haggard, and strange, as his glassy eye-balls, and the gold 
iarrings with which the countess had adorned his large ears, 
glittered in the light of the embers. On his thick woolly head 
nas a cap or crown, which he had woven of seaweed, and 
ornamented with the crabs’ claws and the cockle-shells of his 
late repasts ; his once gay doublet of white satin, slashed with 
scarlet silk and laced with gold, his tight white hose and trunk 
breeches, together with the metallic collar and thrall 'which 
had the Countess Margaret’s arms and cipher engraved thereon, 
were all wofully changed in aspect, the former being torn to 
rags, and the latter encrusted with salt by the saline atmosphere 
of the Firth. 

All this and much more the poor mute endeavoured to explain 
by signs, which were totally unintelligible to the Earl of Ash- 
kirk ; who, however, understood one point of the narrative, the 
necessity of remaining closely concealed. 

As Sabrino, to avoid discovery, had to cook all his viands in 
the night, another rabbit was put to the spit before his fire, on 
which he threw some of the driftwood and dried seaweed pro- 
cured from the creek ; and there can be little doubt that the 
glow of this subterranean fire, appearing at times through the 
fissure in the rocks that bounded the western side of the little 
valley, formed the gleams of fairy light, which were the source 
of such alarm to the countess. 

Her outlawed son made a hearty meal, which passed for both 
supper and breakfast ; as by the time it was concluded, Sabrinc 
had carefully extinguished his fire, for morning had dawned 
and the beams of the rising sun shone far into the lower cavern, 
glittering on its wet walls, and casting their reflection on its 
slimy recesses. The tide, which in full flow completely filled it, 
had now ebbed ; but there were many fathoms of water, dark 
and deep, in the chasm where the earl’s boat lay floating 


276 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


swamped and brimful to the gunwale ; and the task of baling 
it with his bonnet, for lack of another vessel, was a long and pro- 
tracted one. 

“ Now, my friend Sabrino,” said ho, “ dust thou know what 
has brought me to this rascally island ?” 

A knowing leer glittered in the shining eyes of Sabrino ; and 
pointing to the tower, he kissed his hand, laid it on his heart, 
and then pointed to the water. 

“ Thou art right ; to take my black-eyed Sybil from that vil- 
lanous prison-house. By my faith, thou wouldst make a glorious 
lover ! what a bright leer thou gavest ! I would give a hundred 
gold unicorns to find a sable Venus for thee, my poor Sabrino; 
and who knoweth, but through the kind offices of the prior of 
Torphichen and other knights of Rhodez, I may do so. Now, 
dost thou know in what part of yonder tower Lady Sybil Douglas 
and the good lady my mother dwell ?” asked the earl, pointing 
to the castle of the Inch, from the whin-bushes which screened 
the entrance to their hiding-place, and faced the little valley 
overlooked by the island fortress, and the winding path which 
ascended to it. “ Not those chambers which overhang the ocean, 
I hope ?” he added, anxiously. 

Sabrino nodded his head sorrowfully. 

“ Ah ! twenty furies ! dost thou say so ? How shall I ever 
reach them, unless I become a hoodie-crow or a solan goose ? 
Do they ever walk in the valley ?” 

Sabrino nodded again. 

“ Close to these rocks — eh ?” 

Sabrino shook his woolly head. 

“ Are they guarded ? The devil ! thou noddest thy head 
again. Indeed, this wary old trooper, Barncleugh, keeps a sure 
watch over them. By Satan’s horns ! I may mar his worship 
yet. Do he or they know that thou art here ?” 

Another shake of the head replied in the negative. 

“ Sabrino, my dark-complexioned friend, listen and look ; open 
thy huge eyes, prick up thy capacious ears, and attend to me. 
To-night I will scale that castle wall, and thou shalt assist me.” 

“ Ees.” 

“ I have observed that the windows on that side are not barr- 
ed, because they overlook the water. Thou wilt clamber, and 
not be afraid ?” 

“ Ees — ees,” replied the negro, capering about. 

“ But we may be shot by the arquebuses of the watchmen.” 

“O — ah!” howled Sabrino, scratching his woolly head 


THE KING S ADVOCATE. 


2T7 


But do not let that aflfright thee, my Ethiopian ; for it hath 
been the hap of better men before us. An unlucky cannon slew 
king James II., at Roxburgh, at the very moment he was pass- 
ing a jest with my gallant grandsire. What matters it whether 
we are shot now, or die quietly twenty years after this, for in 
the twenty-first year time would be all the same with us, at 
least so far as I am concerned personally ; but I have it impe- 
ratively upon my mind to send certain Hamiltons to the other 
world before me, ere I can give up the ghost in peace.” 

The eyes of the negro gleamed, and he laid his hand on his 
dagger. 

“ How readily thou snuffest blood, my sable devil. I doubt 
not thou gottest it with thy mother’s milk ; for, among the 
knights of Torphichen, I have heard it said, that in the far 
away land from whence thou earnest, a ciiild receives its first 
food on a spear, even as our fiei^e clansmen in the north give 
the young Celt his first food on the point of his father’s clay- 
more. Well, then, listen. Thou -seest the wall of yonder bar- 
bican, all grey, weatherbeaten, and tufted with grass ; well, 
where that wall joins the tower, I will ascend, and so reach the 
window^s of their apartment. Thou starest. Ah, my friend, 
thou knowest not my capabilities in the climbing way. I have 
done as much before for the mere iove of life, and shall I not 
do thrice as much again for the love of Sybil Douglas, who is 
dearer to me than a thousand lives 

The negro clapped his hands, lolled out the fragment of his 
tongue, and danced about to the jangJo of his long earrings 
which clanked on his metallic collar. 

Being naturally at all times of a sociable and convivial turn, 
the young earl, to wile away the time, talked constantly to the 
lX)or mute, gravely and with drollery by turns, amusing himself 
with his childish wonder and savage simplicity, for they served 
to pass the otherwise dreary day ; and gladly Asbkirk beheld the 
'iun sink, and the hour for more active employment draw uear. 


278 


JANE seton; or, 


CHAPTER XXXIX. I 

THE earl’s success. ] 

“ You will quickly find 

I’ll reach its gates, although, volcano-like, ] 

With thickest clouds it strikes the bright sun blind, 

And lightnings flash, and bolts around me strike.” 

CaLDEROIC. I 

During the whole of that day, from his secret hiding-place, 
the earl watched the little green valley that lies in the bosom 
of the island, and the narrow winding path that ascended from 
it to the round gateway in the barbican wall of the tower. The 
latter was an exact square of considerable height, surrounded at 
the summit by a heavy battlement, having little tourelles at the - 
angles, a row of those brass cannon then known in Scotland as ^ 
chahners, and a staff, from which was displayed the blue national j 
standard, with the white cross of St. Andrew. But the anxious i 
earl watched fruitlessly ; for on this day, neither at the windows, ^ 
on the ramparts, on the pathway, nor in the valley, did the 
countess or Sybil appear. 

About mid-day. Sir James Hamilton of Barncleugh, the 
governor of the little stronghold, came forth, and at the gate i 
sat down to his daily employment of playing chess with his 
seneschal, and drinking Rochelle, while a few of his soldiers j 
solaced themselves by a game with quoits in the valley below, ^ 
where as Sabrino endeavoured to acquaint the earl, the same 
men had played at the same game, at the same time, every day .1 
since he had been on the island ; for so passed the time in this 
little isolated and monotonous place ; and nothing ever disturbed '1 
the perfect equanimity of its governor (who was content to | 
vegetate like a fungus or a mussel on the rocks), save when the i 
Leith provision boats brought some waggish rumour that his ' 
lady, who was a dame of the tabourette at Holyrood, intended 
to join him — the very idea of which made the bluff old knight \ 
tremble in his wide trunk hose. ^ 

So close were the quoit players to the place of the earl’s con- j 
cealment, that more than once he shrunk back with alarm, ■ 
expecting instant discovery, when any of them overshot the J 
mark, and hurled his iron discus to the very verge of the dark 1 
whins which shrouded the mouth of the cavern. This gioup ^ 


THE KING’S ADVOCATE. 


279 


of men continued their play with ardour until sunset ; for of 
this game (which was famous of old among the ancients) the 
Scots in all ages, as in the present day, have been passionately 
fond. 

While the earl, lover-like, was wasting his time in gazing at 
the tower which contained Sybil, the black page sat near him, 
cross-legged, engaged in knotting a ladder from a coil of rope 
he had found in the boat, and formed it very ingeniously 
by loops equidistant on each side of the shaft of a stout boat- 
hook, solacing himself the while by a deep guttural croaking, 
which he meant for a song, and grinning from ear to ear with 
delight as his work progressed. 

As the sun set behind the Oohills, a culverin was fired from 
the high carved poop of the Admiral Sir Robert Barton’s ship, 
and St. Andrew’s cross was hauled down from the bartizan ; 
the governor and his little garrison retired to supper, the gates 
of the tower were closed, and then a perfect stillness reigned 
throughout the island, which exhibited no sign of life, save when 
a seagull flew screaming round the tower above, or a wild rab- 
bit shot like an evil spirit across the darkening valley below. 

The night came on calm, still, and solemn, and the stars were 
reflected on the broad blue bosom of the Forth. The moon 
seemed to linger long behind the distant Lammermuirs ; but 
the myriad of stars that dotted the canopy above shed a clear 
white light on the magnificent river, the bordering hills, and 
all its rocky isles. Here and there, a red spark, twinkling afar 
oflf, marked where a town or hamlet lay, for thickly were they 
scattered along its fertile shores. 

The blue waves were rolling in silver light against the black 
rocks and volcanic columns of the isle, as the earl guided his 
boat from its place of concealment, and moored it by the 
beach ; for on this night he had resolved to attempt one of 
those rash and bold essays of which his life was one continued 
and exciting succession. With anxious and longing eyes he 
gazed at the square and lofty tower which stood in dark outline 
between him and the west, where, above the distant chain of 
the Ochill mountains, a red light lingered like the last fiame of 
a dying conflagration. 

It marked where the sun had set. 

“ Now,’’ said the earl, as he sprang ashore, “thank heaven, 
Sabrino, I have bidden adieu to thy dark and dirty fox-hole !” 

Armed with his sword and poniard, and carrying with him 
a stout rope and the boat-hook, which, like the boat itself (act 


280 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


ing under the law of necessity), he had appropriated to him 
self, the adventurous earl, accompanied by his sable follower, 
stole up the dark valley, across which fell the sombre shadow 
of the tower (for though rising, the moon was not yet visible), 
and ci’ept softly close to the rampart of the barbican. 

From thence they piloted their way along the base of the 
wall, until they reached an angle that overhung the water, 
which, at the frightful depth of a hundred and sixty feet below, 
was chafing in foam against the foot of the clifis, beetling on 
the very verge of which the tower was founded. According to 
Sabrino, the windows of the apartments occupied by Sybil 
Douglas and the countess, overlooked this comfortable abyss. 

To pass the corner of the wall which overhung the precipice 
was the most dangerous part of the adventure ; and, observing 
that his leader paused with perspiration on his brow and per- 
plexity in his heart, the negro pulled the skirt of his doublet, 
and made a motion indicative of advancing himself. 

“ My trusty imp !” said the earl, “ where a-6eton lingers, it 
will never do for thee to take the lead ; and yet, without the 
wings of a crow or the claws of a cat, I know not how the 
devil I shall pass this hairs-breadth precipice !” 

While Ashkirk was speaking, Sabrino, who on many a night 
before this had scrambled like a squirrel over every part of the 
island, shot past, and, with his arms embracing the corner of 
the wall, achieved the feat, and with a guttural laugh held out 
his hands to assist the earl round. 

“ Thou art certainly a son of our old friend with the horns ; 
but, by my faith, fall or not, I follow thee !” and grasping the 
hand of the agile African, with one stride the earl was beside 
him. 

Then he found himself upon a shelf of rock scarcely eighteen 
inches broad, with the waves of the Firth hissing in foam far 
down below — so far, that the angry boom was but faintly 
heard, while the scared sea-gulls and gigantic solan geese, flap- 
ping their wings like thunder, flew out of their eyries, plunging 
and screaming in the abyss beneath. 

About three miles olf, the lights of Leith were faintly glim- 
mering through that haze which often shrouds its shore. 

Though eminent for courage in a gallant age, the earl felt 
his heart grow sick for a moment at his perilous position. At 
his back was the wall of the keep, some seventy feet in height; 
and twenty feet from where he stood was a large window 
secured by two bars of iron in the shape of a cross ; and there 


THE king’s advocate. 


281 


Rabrino indicated, by a multitude of signs, contortions, and 
guttural sounds, the countess resided. 

“ I have thrown a lance six ells long, at a smaller mark than 
that window,” said the earl; “and I must be blinder than a 
bat to miss it; but as thou knowest, Sabrino, the business just, 
now is not to hit the window, but to click the boat-hook to the 
bars. Ah, plague ! if we should only break the glass, and the 
window be, after all, that of Sir James Hamilton, or some of 
his fellows ! my blood runs cold at the thought ; they could pop 
I at us so leisurely with their hand-culverins ; and I assure thee, 
I I have no wish to be shot like a poor pigeon here.” 

As the earl spoke, he secured one end of the rope to the 
ladder which had been formed of loops on the shaft of the 
boat-hook, and tied the other round his waist ; he then, with 
all the force that his dangerous footing peimitted him to exert, 
shot up the hook towards the window ; but missing it, was 
nearly thrown over the cliff by the jerk of its descent. 

“ Courage !” said he, grasping it again ; “ I am only twenty 
feet from thee, my dear Sybil.” 

Again he threw, and with joy beheld the steel hook attach 
itself to the iron cross bar of the window. Then he waited 
breathlessly to hear if the noise caused any alarm ; for there 
was as much chance of a mustachiod soldier appearing at the 
I window as of Sybil Douglas presenting her fair face and star- 
j tied eyes. All remained still but the screaming of the sea birds 
f around them, the dash of the breakers below, and the dull hum 
I of the rising wind as it swept along the Firth. Then fearlessly 
the brave earl began his ascent. On the strength of the rope, 
the hook, or the shaft, he never bestowed a thought ; but sole- 
ly intent on seeing his mother and Sybil, clambered eagerly 
but carefully up the rough wall, which was grey and weather- 
beaten by the saline atmosphere and ocean storms of many a 
century, and against which the ladder swung frightfully to and 
fro, until he reached the window, grasped its massive cross bar, 
nd gained a comparatively secure seat upon its deep broad sill. 

He peered in, and listened, as well as the thick panes of 
coarse and encrusted glass, which filled the window, would per- 
mit, and between the yellow damask curtains saw a plainly fur- 
nished sleeping apartment, in which Sybil and Ins mother 
were kneeling at prayer, before retiring. Their rosaries were 
at their wrists, and they knelt before one of those little altars 
which then formed a part of every Scottish household ; as they 
do in Catholic countries still. It was somewhat like a cabinet, 


282 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


and had a figure of the Madonna, bearing in her arms the little 
infant Jesus. Upon her head was a wreath of freshly gather- 
ed flowers, and before her burned two little wax-tapers, which 
had been consecrated at the last candle-rnass by the abbot 
of Inchcolm. 

The earl waited until their orisons were over ; and while they 
prayed his heart swelled within him at their unaffected piety ; 
for his memory went back to other days, when, in their seclud- 
ed home at Ashkirk, in Angus, he had knelt by his mother’s 
side, and first learned to lisp the very prayers she was now 
repeating. An emotion of shame came over him, on reflecting 
that in the wandering life he had led, and especially during his 
exile at the court of the libertine Henry VIII. of England, he 
nad neglected every office of religion. He observed that his 
mother had become paler and thinner, and that her hair seem- 
ed to be silvered with white ; but that might have been the 
effect of fancy, or of the dim light of the apartment. 

Sybil had lost somewhat of her rich bloom ; but her dark 
eyes were bright as ever. Her black hair flowed from under 
her triangular cap, and hung like a silky veil over her shoul- 
ders, the curve of which, as she knelt with her head bent for- 
ward, was eminently beautiful. The edge of each large ring- 
let, the pearls of her cap, and the top of her smooth forehead, 
were all tipped with pale light by the tapers. She wore a long 
dress of purple satin, with an open neck ; and in the light and 
shadow its folds seemed to glitter with many prismatic hues. 
It is impossible to say whether it was the brilliant and piquant 
expression, the noble features, and pure complexion of sybil’s 
face, that made her adorable, but, taken together, these attri- 
butes of the old Douglas race made her singularly so. 

The moment their orisons were over, the old countess arose 
to the full extent of her great stature ; and though aged, being 
unbent, her flgure was remarkably elegant, its height being 
increased by her shoes — the “ cork-heeled shoon” of our old 
national ballad — and after solemnly crossing herself three seve- 
ral times, she extinguished the tapers on the altai*, and kissed 
Sybil with all the affection of a mother. 

The sole light in the chamber now came from two wax-can- 
dles, which were held in the outstretched arms of a grotesque 
figure of Florentine workmanship, placed on the dressing-table 
at the farther end, and immediately opposite the window where 
.he earl had perched himself. 


THK KING S ADVOCATE ^ 


283 


CHAPTER XL. 

SYBIL. 


“ Come, my Antonia, come, 
ri! lead thee to the blissful land of love. — 

I’ll lead thee to the pinnacle of joys. 

Where round thy path the fairest flowers of earth 
Shall bloom in radiant beauty to reward 
Thy noble deed — come, dearest.” 

Theodork Korneb. 

A GUTTURAL laugh announced to the earl that Sabrino had 
ah^ ascended the ladder, and was rejoicing at the sight of his 
miistress. 

^ Hold fast I by my faith, thou hast the hands and feet of a 
nitwfinoset. Hush ! I would hear them talk a little,” said the 
noole, adjusting himself upon his giddy perch. “ By Jove ! we 
are like a couple of crows up here — thou like the black, and I 
like a white one.” 

“ Ees,” grinned Sabrino, whose whole vocabulary was nearly 
comprised in that sound. 

The moment their orisons were over, Sybil went to the oppo- 
site window, and withdrawing the curtains, gazed steadfastly 
towards the eastern end of the little valley. 

‘‘ Dost thou see it again, bairn — that ill-omened light ?” 
asked the countess, approaching. v 

“ Yes ; oh, yes !” replied Sybil, with a voice of surprise and 
fear ; “ brighter to-night than ever before.” 

“ Then it must be either a corpselicht, that burneth on the 
grass, to mark where a slain man sleeps, or a fairy candle, at 
the rock where the whinbushes grow. Corpselichts burn blue, 
and fairy-candles are siller white.” 

“ But this burns redly, and it brightens fast !” 

“By the Lord!” said the earl with alarm, “in our hurry 
to-night thou hast forgotten to extinguish our fire, master 
Sabrino ; and we have widened the aperture at the chasm 
Mass ! if the knaves of watchmen see it, we shall be discovered, 
and taken !” 

Sabrino turned skyblue in the dark at this terrible sugges- 
tion. 

“ 'J'here is a knowe among the hazlewoods near our castle of 


284 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


As'bkirk, where the gude neibours dwell ; and ever and aye on 
St. John’s night, a light of siller white shines among the grass 
that grows beneath the thick dark trees. Now it chanced that, 
on the eve of that blessed festival, in 1510 (oh, waly ! only 
three years before dreich Flodden-field, and good king James’s 
death), Hughie o’ the llaugh, a poor cottar-body, who dwelt 
at the glenfoot, was coming home from the next burrow toua 
with a bag of barley on his horse’s back, and trudging, staff in 
hand, behind, lamenting sorely at the tidings he had that day 
heard at the market cross ; for brother Macgridius, of the 
blessed order of Redemption, had seen his son, a piiir sailor lad, 
taken prisoner by the cruel pagans at Barbary, who demanded 
a hundred pieces of gold for his ransom. Hughie could as 
easily have raised the Bass Rock as a hundred pieces of gold ; 
and he went homewards, with his bonnet owre his eyen, groan- 
ing in great anguish of mind. Oblivious of all but the loss of 
his only son, poor old Hughie followed his horse, which knew 
right well the drove road that led to his thatched stable, at the 
back of the auld farm toun ; when suddenly, at the fairy 
knowe, the animal pricked up its ears, trembled, and stopped, 
as a wee diminutive mannie, not two feet high, and wearing an 
enormous broad blue bonnet, and a long beard, that reached to 
his middle, rose off the stone dyke, and bade Hughie hail. 

“ ‘ Gude e’en. Carle Hughie,’ said he ; ‘ how went the mar- 
kets.?’ he added, with an eldritch laugh. 

“ ‘ Sorrowfully for me,’ replied the other, wiping his eyes with 
the neuk of his plaid. 

“ ‘ Wherefore, Hughie, wherefore, ye silly auld carle ?’ quoth 
the little man. 

“ ‘ Because I come back with a light purse and a sorrowfu’ and 
heavy heart,’ replied the poor cottar, peering under his bonnet, 
and terrified at the wee figure ; for he knew it was one of those 
unco creatures whom it was dangerous to seek, and still more 
dangerous to avoid or to offend. 

“‘lam sorely in want of barley, carle,’ said the mannikin, 
stroking his long white beard ; ‘ ye must sell me that load, and 
at mine ain price, too.’ 

“ ‘ I lack siller, gude sir, as sorely as ye can lack the barley,’ 
urged the poor crofter, who feared that the payment might be 
fairy-pennies or pebble-stones. 

“ ‘ I never was hard on a puir man yet,’ renlied the little 
mannie, testily ; ‘ and I have dealt wi’ your race, Huo-hie, for 
many a generation. When grain is plenty T buy it; S)r I tel) 


THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


283 


je, caile, that a time of sad and sair scarcity for puir Scotland 
is last coining. So, here ! I ken what ye are graning for, ya 
greedy body,’ quoth the creature,' plunging eacli of his hands 
into the enormous pockets of his doublet, ‘here are a hundred 
pieces of good red gold ; ransom your son, and give me a help 
wi’ the barley pock ; my back hath borne a load like that and 
mair.’ 

“ With fear and joy mingled, Ilughie received the gold, and 
transferred the bag of barley from the back of his horse' to that 
of the little man, of whom it left no part visible, save his bandy 
legs, his walking staff, and the end of his long white beard. 

“ ‘Gude e’en to you. Carle Uughie ; a safe voyage hame to 
your son,’ said the awsome buyer, and manfully striking his 
staff into the ground, he trudged up the steep knowe, and dis- 
appeared below the dark trees. 

“ Hughie hastened back to brother Macgridius, and, with jov, 
paid him the hundred pieces of gold for his son’s redemption 
from slavery ; and not without many a fear that before his 
eyes the coins would turn into birch leaves or cockleshells; 
but that was impossible, for they were ilka ane our gude Scot- 
tish gold, but six hundred years old, for they bore the name of 
king Constantine IV., who was slain at the battle of Cramond.” 

“ And Hughie’s son was released ?” said Sybil. 

“ Yea, child, and is now master gunner of Sir Robert Bar- 
ton’s ship at Leith.” 

With his legs dangling over the surf, and being in imminent 
danger of drowning, it may easily be supposed that the earl 
listened to this fairy legend with the utmost impatience ; but 
while his mother spoke and Sybil listened with the utmost 
good faith and reliance (for in those days, as at this hour, in 
some parts of Scotland, one might as well have doubted their 
own existence as that of fairies and other spirits of good or evil), 
the earl had gently raised the heavy and massive sash of the 
window, slid into the room, and concealed himself behind the 
thick damask curtains, his heart beating the while with the 
mingled desire of rushing forward to embrace his mother and 
Sybil, and a fear that their alarm might be communicated to the 
inhabitants of the tower, many of whom had not yet retired to 
rest. 

“ Look, look, Sybil,” exclaimed the countess, “ the whins are 
on fire. Surely that is no fairy light !” 

As she spoke, a watchman on the tower head sounded hi' 
horn. 


286 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


“ Hark ! the castle is alarmed !” said Sybil. 

The earl saw that not a moment was to be lost now. Theii 
fire in the cavern had by some means communicated itself to 
the whin-bushes at the entrance ; an alarm had thus been given, 
and immediate action became necessary. 

“ Sybil,” said he, “ Sybil ” 

“Just Heaven! my son’s voice!” exclaimed the countess, 
becoming deadly pale, and feeling in her bosom for her cases 
of reliques. “ It is a spirit — a warning ! It is a spirit !” 

“ Ten devils, lady mother ! do not cry out !” implored the 
earl, gradually emerging from his hiding-place ; “ I am not yet 
a spirit, thank Heaven, and have no wish to be one.” 

“ Then, oh, Archibald, how came you here ?” she exclaimed, 
throwing her arms around him. 

“ By the window,” he replied, embracing Sybil in turn ; “ by 
the window, as you may see.” 

“And Sabrino, my poor Sabrino !” 

The black sank upon his knees to kiss her hands, and then 
danced about the room, performing the most extravagant 
capers, to the sound of his long clanking ear-rings. 

“ By my soul, mother, the times are sorely changed with th^ 
Setons, when my father’s son comes to visit thee and his be- 
trothed wife like a rascally stoutriever, by the window instead 
of the door — in the night instead of the day.” 

“The window!” they repeated, and became speechless for a 
moment, as they thought of the precipice, and the water at its 
foot. 

“ Faith, very few, I believe, would have dared what Sabrino 
and I have dared and done — but it was for thee, mother, and 
thee, my life, my love, my dear Sybil !” said Ashkirk, kissing 
her olive cheek. 

“ My brave Archibald, did the power of sorcery or of provi • 
dence bring thee to this prison island ?” 

“ Neither, lady mother, but a smart boat, which, in another 
hour, shall convey you hence, with a fair breeze and a flowing 
sail.” 

“ But how ?” 

“ I know not yet, for we have to leave this tower, and baffle 
the old bear, its governor, the laird of Barnaleugh.” 

“ My son, here have we dwelt for more than two weary weeks, 
and never a letter nor message hath come from thee or Roland 
Vipont.” 

“ Vipont is on the king’s service in Douglasdale, and for fc m 


THE king’s advocate. 


28 t 


teen days I have been a prisoner in the house of Redhall ; for 
the other two I have been vagabondizing.” 

“ And Jane,” said Sybil, “your sister Jane?” 

“ Is safe, I trust ; but whether with M'tirion Logan, at Restal- 
rig, or with my old friend Josina, the fair Prioress of St. Cathe- 
rine, I cannot for the life of me say. Now, pretty rogue, at 
what art thou laughing?” 

“ At thy figure, lord earl ; ’tis like the satyrs on some old 
tapestry ; thou art quite a wild man.” 

“True, cousin; I am scarcely fitted for appearance at Falk- 
land or llolyrood, or in the Hall of the Three Estates, unless it 
were, as it may too soon be, at the oar. But ah, Sybil, my dear 
little Sybil, what pleasure the sound of your voice gives me ! 

’tis like the dream of Hark ! what an uproar ! the burning 

whins have alarmed old Barncleugh and all his fellows. Come 
now, Sabrino, my man of the earrings, a truce to these mad 
capers — dost thou hear me ?” 

Sabrino stopped a fandango which he was performing on his 
head and hands, and pricked up his enormous eai's. 

“ Quick with our rope ladder, for thou, my mother, and Sybil 
too, must descend from this window on the dark side of the 
tower ; it is not more than fifteen feet from the ground, I think.” 

“ But the barbican gate ?” said Sybil. 

“ I will unlock it with the point of my sword,” replied the 
fiery earl, as a savage gleam shot from his eyes. 

“ Nay, nay,” said the countess, crossing her hands, and stand- 
ing very erect, “I cannot think of flying thus; the king has 
placed me here, and the king must release me.” 

“ What frenzy is this ? Besotted by his French marriage, 
the king hath become a fool. Quick, Lady Ashkirk ! we have 
not a moment to lose. Hark ! the whole tower is silent now, 
for its inmates are away down in the valley, seeking the source 
of that sudden fire. Oh, if the knaves should discover my 
boat ! Quick ! — are you a coward, my mother — the widow ol 
my father ?” 

“ A coward never came of the line of Kilspindie, and a cow- 
ard had never slept in your father’s bosom. Lord Archibald,” 
replied the tall matron, proudly, and with asperity, as her eyes 
filled with tears. “ Thou knowest not, my son, how life some- 
times rises in value with the unfortunate ; but it is neither the 
love of life nor the fear of death that restrain me now, but a 
shame to fly, like a thief in the nighty from tho wardship ol 
either king or clown.” 


288 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


“Now, by the faith of Seton ! these are pleasant remarks to 
me, who have been skulking like a thief and a vagabond too, 
for the last few years — a creditable occupation for an earl ! 11 

thou stayest, here will I stay too,” said Ashkirk, and seating 
himself, he folded his arms ; “ if Barncleugh finds me, thou 
kiiowest my doom, for I shall die the death of an outlaw and 
traitor. By my soul ! ’tis outrageous, this !” 

“ Thou art right,” replied the old lady, trembling with sud 
den alarm ; “ I thought not of that. Quick, then ! Old as I 
am, thou shalt see that now, as in the days of James IV., of 
gude memorie, I am a true daughter of old Archibald Grey 
steel.” 

“ We have lost ten good minutes already,” replied the earl, 
lowering his rope ladder from the small window, which, luckily, 
w^as ungrated, being within the barbican. Fortunately a gusty 
wind had risen, and the moon, which was partially obscured by 
passing clouds, having verged far to the south-east, threw the 
sombre shadow of the tower over that part of the court into 
which the fugitives were about to descend. The little castle 
was almost deserted, the iron gate of the barbican stood wide 
open, and the barking of dogs and hallooing of men ascended 
from below, where Barncleugh, with ten or fifteen of his follow- 
ers, searched the valley for the source of that nocturnal fire 
which, on this occasion, had become so palpable, and caused 
such alarm. 

“ I will descend first, and hold steady the foot of the ladder ; 
and do thou, Sabrino, my gallant imp, hoUl fast its top,” said 
the earl, as, with his drawn sword in his teeth, he slid in a 
moment to the ground ; “ come, dearest Sybil, do thou set my 
motlier an example.” 

With Sabrino’s assistance, the young lady got out upon the 
ladder, which she clutched with a death-grasp, while the wind 
expanded her dress, and blew all her long black hair about 
her face. 

“ Oh, cousin Ashkirk !” she exclaimed, in great terror. 

“ Oh, cousin Sybil !” replied the earl, jestingly, in the same 
tone, to reassure her ; “ I will swear thou hast the handsomest 
ankles and the handsomest leg in all the Lothians.” 

This intimation made her come down very quickly, and the 
earl received her in his arms with joy. 

“ Now, my lady mother, quick, bestir thee,” said he, in a low 
voice. But terror seized him when a cry from his mother re- 
plied, and the explosion of a petronel followed ; then Sabrir,^ 


THE kino’s advocate. 288 

sjjrang from the chamber, and descended the ladder with the 
-apidity of light, and with his poniard in his hand. 

There was blood on its blade ! 

A servant of Barncleugh had rushed in, and, surprising them, 
had fired his petronel at the negro, who, springing at him like 
a tiger cat, inflicted a deadly wound with his poniard. 

“ Away, Sybil ! come away ! We have not a moment now 
to lose !” said the earl. 

“ But your mother, your poor mother !” she urged. 

“ Her own folly has done it all ; those ten minutes had freed 
her *, but she must be left for the present and almost dragging 
Sybil, he led her out of the barbican and down the valley, 
keeping carefully on its shadowy side, which, fortunately, lay 
towards the beach. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

A HAMILTON ! A HAMILTON I 

“ Oh, stay at home, ray only son. 

Oh, stay at horae with rae ! ' ' ' 

For secretly I am forewarned. 

Of ills awaiting thee ! 

Last night I heard the deid bell sound, 

When all were fast asleep ; 

And aye it rung, and aye if sung. 

Till all my flesh did creep.” • . 

The Ettrick Shepherd." 

Unobserved, they reached the verge of the beach, and were 
about to descend, when Sabrino suddenly grasped the arm of 
the earl. 

He turned. 

The negro had his poniard in his right hand, and placed a 
finger of his left on his lips, in token of silence ; there was a 
savage gleam in his shining eyes. 

“ Well, Sabiino, what dost thou see now ?” 

Sabrino pointed, and, a few yards below, the earl saw a 'man, 
having in his hand a drawn sword, which glittered in the moon- 
light. That he was a gentleman was evident by his dress— a 
plum-coloured doublet, orange hose, a blue velvet mantle, and 
waving feather. He was ascending straight from the little 


290 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


creek, where the boat was moored to a fragment of rotk, anO 
had, beyond a doubt, discovered it. 

“My lord I” said Sybil, breathlessly; “’tis Sir James of 
Barncleugh himself.” 

“ Oho ! I have not met this worthy laird since we broke the 
pikemen of Arran at Linlithgowbrig. He owes me more than 
one sword cut ; and I do not like debtors of that kind.” 

“ Oh, if possible, avoid him !” 

“ My dear Sybil ” 

“ Death will come of it !” 

“A little prick with a poniard will do him no harm.” 

“ But while you fight, his people will come upon us. How, 
dear Archibald, pray ” 

“ I am not in the sweetest of tempers just now ; and — soho 1 
thou Hamilton ! clear the pathway, or I will trounce thee 
soundly.” 

“ Who are you /” asked Sir James, standing on his guard, 
right in the centre of the path that led to the boat ; “ ^Tid what 
seek you here, sirrah — stand and answer.” 

“I sought Sybil Douglas, Sir James.” 

“What do I hear — the Earl of Ashkirk ! Now, by the soul 
of Arran ! thou leavest not this island but in a coffin. Pardon 
me, my young lady of Kilspindie,” said the old governor, cour- 
teously raising his blue velvet bonnet to Sybil ; “ pardon me, 
but this rash gallant must pay the penalty of coming uninvited 
here. Hollo ! a Hamilton ! a Hamilton 

“ Dishonour dog your heels, base Barncleugh ! and may that 
accursed slogan never be heard but in shame and defeat!” ex- 
claimed the earl, infuriated to find him thus crying aloud to 
summon his men, who were scattered over the island, and 
many of whom were visible in the moonlight, and not far off. 
“To the boat, Sybil, and leave me to deal with this rough 
tiltdi 1 To the boat; see to it, Sabrino. Sir James Hamilton, 
I have fought fifteen times, and three of my adversaries are 
dead ; thou shalt make the sixteenth combatant I have encoun- 
tered, and the fourth I shall have slain ; and, as God be my 
judge, unwillingly. Come on 1” 

Both drew their daggers, and stood with their swords on 
guard. 

In the sixteenth century, fencing in Scotland was very dif- 
ferent from what it is to-day — a pastime for boys. It was 
then the indispensable accomplishment of the soldier and gen- 
tleman, for every gentleman was then a soldier. Long, straight, 


THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


291 


ftnd heavy, the swords were double edged ; consequently, there 
were as many cuts as thrusts ; and being furnished with long 
ann-})it daggers, the left hands of the duellists alternately acted 
offensively and defensively, and very often gave the finishing 
blow, when the sword of one adversary had beaten down the 
other’s guard, and the combatants came to closer quarters. 

Alarmed lest the voice of Barncleugh should have reached 
his people, excited by the imminent danger of his position, and 
by the instinctive feudal hatred of Sir James Hamilton, the 
earl attacked him with the utmost fury, assailing him with 
point and edge ; and warily the older swordsman received him, 
warding the cuts with his rapier, and parrying the thrusts with 
his poniard. The steel rang and flashed like blue fire in the 
bright moonlight ; and a shower of red sparks flew from either 
weapon as their keen edges met, and made the arm of each 
combatant tingle up to the shoulder blade. 

Somewhat older fashioned, and more stiff than the earl, the 
knight of Barncleugh was unable, like the former, to lengthen 
and shorten himself — one moment to spring agilely to the 
right, and the next to make a furious assault on the left ; or, in 
avoiding a breast-high thrust, to lie so far back that his dagger- 
hand rested on the turf. Firm and erect, the old laird stood 
like a tower.; and the whole of his skill (which was not little) 
lay in his sharp and unerring eye, his strong but pliant wrist. 

Meanwhile, Sabrino had placed Sybil in the boat, and stand- 
ing in the water, which came up to his armpits, held the bow 
to the edge of the rock, that the earl might readily leap on 
board. 

I’he result of a combat between two such well-matched 
swordsmen was a number of mutually inflicted cuts and 
scratches, which exasperated them both. But their animosity 
had different incentives — Barncleugh fought for honour alone ; 
but the earl fought for his honour, life, liberty, and possession 
of Sybil Douglas ; a cry from whom, together with a distant 
hallo, informed him that the conflict was observed by several of 
Barncleugh’s soldiers, who were hurrying down the steep path- 
way w’hich led to the creek. This made the earl fall on with 
such fury, that the calmer Barncleugh ran his sword through 
his doublet (and grazed his ribs) up to the very hilt. 

Imagining that he was run through the body, and slain, the 
earl seized the guard of Barncleugh’s sword, to retain it in his 
body, and closing up with his own sword shortened in his 
liand. buried the point in the breast of Barncleugh, whose plum- 


292 


JANE seton; or, 


coloured doublet was covered with blood in a moment. Then 
hurling him to the earth, he sprang wildly on board the boat, 
with one sword in his hand, and another, to all appearance, in 
his body. 

At the same moment, a loud hallo rang again in his ears— a 
rapid explosion followed, and the balls of three arquebuses 
whistled past his head. Thinking only of Sybil, he pushed off 
the boat, forgetting altogether the poor black page, whose 
tongue was unable to cry either for pity or succour ; and tlius 
Sabrino was left behind again. 

Raising himself on his left hand, while with his right he 
endeavoured to staunch the blood that flowed from his wound. 
Sir James Hamilton cried hoarsely and feebly — 

“ To your arquebuses again, ye knaves — again ! Shoot, and 
shoot surely ! See, ’tis the black devil again ! — there — there — 
in the water ! To your arquebuses — shoot, shoot, with a wau- 
nion upon you !” 

The three arquebusiers stuck their forks in the sand, and 
levelled their heavy fire-arms over them. Again, two large _ 
bullets whistled after the earl, and one dashed the spray about 
the black woolly head of Sabrino, which was visible on the 
moonlighted water ; but he dived like a duck, and disappeared. 
The reports of these large fire-arms rang with a hundred rever- 
berations among the clift's and caverns of the isle, and in the 
fissured rocks of the Longcraig (a reef which guards it on the 
east), until they died away on the wind that blew freshly down 
the river fiom the west. 

“ To the boat ! to the boat ! follow, and shoot ! A Hamil- 
ton ! a Hamiiion P' cried Barncleugh, as he sank back choked 
in blood. 

“ Seton, and Set on /” replied the earl, with the punning 
slogan of his house ; “for, by St. Andrew, there is one Hamil- 
ton less in the world!” and with savage glee he plucked from, 
his doublet, and hung back to the shore. Sir James’s sword. 

Then snatching Ins oars, he placed his feet firmly against the 
stretchers in the bottom of the boat, and intent only on leaving 
tlie island as far behind as possible, pulled with all his strength 
away from its rocky shores. 

After some delay, Barncleugh’s followers unmoored their 
boat, which, by a chain and padlock, was secured to an iron 
ling; and then pushed off, two plying their arquebuses, while 
four plied their oars. Away they came, with a shout that 
floated far over the still water ; but by this time the earl was 


THE king’s advocate. 


293 


neatly half a mile from the island, and, acting under a natural 
reaction of feelings, Sybil waved her handkerchief, in token 
ot the triumph and defiance which had replaced her previous 
terror. 

Lustily pulled the brave earl, and even Sybil would have put 
her dimpled hands to the oars to assist him, had she not soon 
required them both to grasp the seat beside him, as their little 
boat rose like a cork on the heavy ground-swell that rolls be- 
tween the island and the shores of Lothian. 

The wind was rising. 

It blew freshly down the Firth, and as the tide was ebbing 
now, a strong current ran seaward — a current against which the 
solitary rower struggled in vain ; for in fifteen minutes he found 
they were swept far below the island. 

lie saw the four oars of his pursuers flashing in the moon- 
light, and the glitter of steel announced that they were well 
armed ; while every successive gust of wind that swept over the 
curling water brought nearer and nearer the triumphant shout; 
and he could see how, at times, they paused, and complacently 
looked over their shoulders to contemplate the distance as it 
f lessened by their efforts, 
j And it was lessening fast ! 

The earl thought of Sybil, and of what her feelings would 
be if he was taken, and of what she and his mother would ex- 
perience if he was brought back to the island a breathless 
corpse. These anxieties received an additional impulse by the 
flash of an arquebus from the pursuing boat ; and the earl saw 
that the bullet skipped over the waves far ahead of him. 

There was now but one alternative, and he did not hesitate 
to adopt it. 

Stepping the little mast, he hoisted the lug-sail, squared it 
to the western breeze, grasped the tiller, while Sybil threw her 
arms around him ; and now their boat, sharp-prowed and 
clinker-built, like all the Scottish fisher craft, favoured by the 
wind, by the ebbing tide, and the fast flowing river, flew like a 
gull down the widening Firth ; and then a shout of anger an- 
nounced that the followers of Barncleugh were left far behind. 

ifc % Ht * * * 

Grasped by a watchman of the tower, when in the very act 
of attempting to descend, the Countess of Ashkirk, as we have 
related, had been left behind ; but si e saw from her window 
the flash of steel on the beach ; she heard the shouts and out- 
cries of the Hamiltons, and prayed and trembled for her sop 


294 JANE RETON ; OR, , 

She saw the two boats which shot off from the island, on the 
bright surface of the glittering river, which was all shining like 
a mirror, save where a flitting cloud obscured it. Sbe had seen i 
these boats lessening in the distance ; and again on her knees ] 
she implored St. Biyde of Douglas to watch over the safety and - 
escape of her son, vowing to endow in her name a yearly mass ■ 
and an altar in the great church of St. Giles. i 

The countess knew not that her “ brave rash bairn,” as she ^ 
called him, had achieved both his safety and escape, until Sir 4 
James Hamilton was carried into the tower bleeding profusely, | 
and almost dying. Now it was that the fierce feudal hatred in 
which she had been nurtured, and in which she had reared her ; 
own son, jarred with her natural kindliness and pity; and it ' 
was with a strange, and, as she often thought, unchristian sen- ^ 
timent of joy and triumph, mingling with her tenderness and 
compassion, she prepared lint and bandages, with some of her | 
favourite salves and recipes, for the wounded castellan, whose | 
sword thrust she proceeded to probe and dress. ^ 

The moment Sir James's wound (which was a deep, but not 
dangerous stab in the breast) was dressed, she liurried to the 
tower head, and looked towards the east, but neither of the 
boats were visible. The moon had become obscured, the rising 
wind howled drearily through the embrasures of the battle- 
ment, and the dusky shadow of a dark cloud rested upon that 
part of the Firth where the boat of the earl had last been 
visible. 

The heart of Lady Ashkirk became oppressed by vague ter- 
rors ; and after praying as only the people of the olden time 
could pray, when faith was strong in the land, and superstition 
stronger, she returned to the bedside of her patient ; and such 
was her cai-e and skill, that in three days the hardy old knight 
was again seated at his little tripod table by the tower gate, 
with the ocean below, and the gulls around him, drinking his 
peg tankard of spiced Rochelle, and playing chess with the 
seneschal of the establishment, who knew his duty too well 
ever to attempt to win a game ; thus that easy-tempered per- 
sonage allowed himself to be defeated ten times a day, if 
nine vicjtories did not satisfy the old knight his master and an- 
tagonist. 


THJE kino’s ADVOOATB, ‘ 


CHAPTER XLIi. 

DAY id’s tower THE PHYSICIAN. 

•* Ah no more can gladden me, 

Sunny shores or dark projections, 

Where in emulous reflections. 

Blend the rival land and sea. 

Where alike in charms and powers. 

Where the woods and waves are meeting— 

Flowers with foam are seen competing — 

Sparkling with the snow-white showers.” 

Calderon’s Constant Prinea 

Tn the reign of James V. the Castle of Edinburgh was com- 
posed of numerous round and square bastel-houses, which^ con- 
nected by curtain walls, surrounded the summit of the rock, 
and were built in various ages by successive princes, and pre- 
sented the various cadences of architecture, from the strong 
grim peels of Malcolm Ceanmhor to the florid Scoto-French 
towel’s of the fourth and fifth Jameses. 

The principal of these bastel-houses was named king David’s 
Tower. 

It was erected by David II. in 1357, and therein he died on 
the 7th May, thirteen years after, when planning a new crusade. 
This keep was of great height and strength, and overhung the 
clitf, which now looks down on the gardens of Princes-street, 
two hundred feet below. One of its lofty turrets was struck by 
lightning during a terrific storm, on All Saints’ Day, 1524, the 
shattered fragments fell into the loch, and the electric fluid set 
the apartments of the queen-dowager Margaret on fire. On its 
summit, James V. placed thirty pieces of cannon. The larger 
chamber within it was named the Lords’ Hall ; another was 
styled the New Court Kitchen ; but its first apartments were a 
range of dreary vaults ; for the whole edifice was a veritable 
castle, with its dungeons below and battlements above. On the 
latter were a flag-staflf, and an iron bail to herald foreign inva- 
sion to the shores of Fife and Stirling ; just similar to one which 
still remains on Mylnes-mount below the Argyle battery. 

In the same vaulted apartment wherein James V. had, six 
years before, confined John Scott, a miracle-monger, who pre- 
tended that the Virgin Mary could maintain him for any length 




206 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


of time without food, Lady Jane Seton had been detained since 
her condemnation. Though tlie strength of the tower was 
great, its walls of stone being ten feet thick, its doors of iron 
deep and narrow, and having other securities in the shape of 
liigh curtain walls, higher rocks, cannon, towers, and port- 
cullises, the Master Porter of the castle (that supernatural 
guards might not be wanting) had painted on the chamber door 
a flaming red cross ; and thereafter nailed on a horse-shoe, a 
fox’s face with a bunch of rosemary and rowan-tree, all of 
which, he had no doubt, would do more than stone redoubts 
and iron-doors to keep the witch in and the devil out. 

Let us take a view of her as she appeared on the second day 
after her trial, for it was now the second and she had but three 
days to live. 

It was evening now, and the kirk and convent bells of the 
city below were floating upward to her grated window, wdiich 
was open, for the season was the sult^-y month of July. The 
whole apartment was as bare and stony in its aspect as the 
arch of a bridge, or any of those caverns in which we have seen 
Lord Ashkirk hiding ; for the groined arch, the low massive 
walls, and the floor were all composed of squared blocks of 
freestone, quarried from the rocks in the neighborhood. Its 
whole furniture consisted of a chair and table, the latter being 
composed of mere fir planks ; a leather jar of water, and a bed 
situated within an arched recess, like a pedestailed tomb in 
some old church ; but being destitute of curtains and bedding, 
it was a mere paillasse. Everything was inferior to what was 
used by the king’s soldiers. 

A witch required little. 

All shrunk from hei‘ now ; even Lady Cranstoun Riddel, whc 
iiad formerly been so kind, avoided her; while her husband, 
the governor, having before his eyes the wrath of the king and 
the cardinal (who was more dreaded than ten kings), also 
remained aloof. Thus no visitor ever disturbed her sad and 
solitary reflections, save the under warder, who came hastily 
and stealthily to deposit her food — a coarse bannock and water 
tinged with a little wine — and as hurriedly withdrew, fearing 
to meet a glance of her eye — for witches were thought to pos 
sess eyes of evil power. 

The coarse bannock, the sole food offered her, remained 
untasted, for it was salt and bitter ; the water was her only 
nourishment, for assuredly it contained but little wine ; as the 
warder, who prepared it, drank the greater part ; for a sorce 


THE KING 8 ADVOCATE. 


297 


j /ess, who was to be burned in three days, might do very well, 

I he thought, without wine. 

^ Thus agony of mind, pain of body, and lack of food, had sorely 
‘ reduced her. She became apathetic, and sank into a stupor so 
deep, that it seemed as if no change of circumstances could ever 
tranquillize or restore ho- to existence and the sunshine of life, 
Her large dark eyes were dry, hot, and tearless. In their 
stony aspect, they seemed never to have beamed in joy, or 
I wept in grief. Her face had the pallor, the lividity of death, 
and her cheeks had become frightfully hollow, while her thin 
lips were a vivid and unnatural scarlet. They seemed to have 
shrunk, and showed more than before her teeth ; and even these 
seemed larger and, if possible, whiter than usual. There was 
something dry, arid, and parched in her whole aspect — as if 
the tire of inward grief was consuming her. As her stooped 
head rested on her hand, with eye fixed and jaw relaxed, her 
expression, at times, grew altogether vacant. 

She had on the same dress in which she had appeared before 
Abbot Mylne and his tribunal, and the same pretty little angu- 
lar cap, below which her fine hair was simply braided. She 
was destitute of ornament, having been robbed or deprived of 
all her rings and bracelets by Sanders Screw and others, into 
whose hands she had been so ruthlessly consigned. 

,[ Her haggard beauty was appalling, as the calmness of her 
;| despair was unnatural. Her whole mind seemed to be un 
hinged. 

» Her cheek reclined in the hollow of her right hand, and he* 
f 'elbow rested on tlie table ; her vacant gaze was fixed on th« 
\ landscape, which extended to the north and westward, for her 
\ chamber had two windows, and from the west the cool, soft 
! wind played on her hot, white cheek, and lifted her heavy hair. 
'■ The glorious plain, that from the foot of the steep Castle 
I Rock stretches almost to the gates of busy Glasgow, was yet 
; hazy with the humid summer mist, from amid which stood 
‘ boldly ■‘brth the lordly Pentlands with their peaks of brilliant 
, emerala green, or heath of russet brown, and the rugged rocks 
' of Corstorphine,* while afar off, and dim in the distance, among 
' the Higiilands of Stirlingshire, rose the pale blue cone of Ben 
Lomond, the king of the Scottish hills, then the fastness of the 
fierce Buchanans. 

j 'J'he sun was sinking behind the Ochills, and tliose who have 
seen it so sink behind those beautiful mountains in summer, 
will cease to boast of Roman skies and V eiietian sunsets. A 


I 


298 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


thousand hills, and Isles, and rocks were mirrored in the bosom 
of the Forth, as a flood of sunlight was poured along its wind- 
ing waters, kissing the wooded shores and dancing waves, 
throwing into light its bold headlands and forest vistas or into 
partial shade the long deej glens and forest dells, where herd 
and hirsel grazed, “and thi wee burnie was stealing under the 
lang yellow brume,” as a beautiful old song has it. 

Rock, isle, and ship seemed floating on its bosom, amid all 
the sparkling colours of the sun, till it sank behinu the moun- 
tains, leaving a million of radiations shooting upward behind 
the dark peak of Dumiat. Then the Forth turned from gold 
to blue, and its shores from green to purple ; and then, as the 
hills of Fife grew dark, the Lothian woods grew darker still, and 
the gentle star of evening arose above Corstorphine to replace by 
its mild beauty, the brighter glories of the day that had passed. 

Of all this magnificent eflfect of scenery and of sunset, Jane 
saw nothing ; for her eyes were turned back (as it were) within 
her heart, and she saw onl}’^ her own thoughts. The events of 
the last few weeks seemed all a horrible dream — a dream from 
which she had yet to awaken. A chaos, incoherent and fan- 
tastic, like the time of a fever and delirium. Amid this chaos 
came forth the image of Roland — Roland, who was ever upper- 
most in her thoughts. Where was he ? What was he doing? \ 
Or what had been done with him since that frightful day when, 
under twenty weapons, she had seen him beaten down and 
slain, as she then thought, before her very eyes. 

She considered, then, the doom to be endured — the punish- 
ment by fire. She remembered the burning of Sir David Strai- 
toun and of Father Norman Gourlay, two hapless Protestants, 
who, on the 27th of August, three years before, had suflered 
martyrdom at the Rood of Greenside, below the western brow 
of the Calton ; and those who witnessed that frightful auto-da- 
fe^ had described how like parchment scrolls the limbs of the 
victims shrivelled; how their stomachs burst and fell down 
among the hissing embers ; and how the forky flames shot up 
between their scorched and blackened ribs, and were vomited 
forth at their open jaws and eyeless sockets, till even the morbid 
crowd, hardened as they were by the daily executions of that 
unhappy age, became sick and turned away with horror. 

She thought of these things ; she grasped her temples \nd • 
endeavoured to pray ; but the terrors of a death so awful para ^ 
lyzed her, and she could not collect her energies sufficiently to J 
addrtsBS even that God, before whom she was so shortly tc ^ 


THE king’s advocate. 


2^9 


appear. All she had endured, and was then enduring, seemed 
trities to the sufferings tliat were yet to come-— the stake — the 
faggots I 

The strong chain that secured her wrists to each other, 
retaining them a yard apart, and that yet stronger fetter which 
secured her left ankle to the wall of her bed, holding her in 
childlike helplessness ; the frequent entrance of Sanders Screw 
and liis assistants, or the equally brutal warders, outraging and 
violating all her privacies by day and by night ; the desertion 
of her friends; her hopelessness of rescue, of mercy, and of 
life, were all merged in the terrors of her coming execution. 

“ Three days ! three days ! three days ! my God ! Oh my 
God !” she exclaimed, “only three days !” 

And falling on her knees, she buried her face in her hands ; 
but, poor being ! her thoughts were too incoherent for utterance, 
or relief in prayer. 

To one in such extreme misery, death could not in * itself be 
very appalling; but it was the thought of Roland, of her 
mother, of her brother, of her family honour, and her own 
blighted name — blighted at least for a time, by the studied 
vengeance of one whom she deemed all but insane, that racked 
her heart with agony ; while the mode of death by which she 
was to die, tilled her whole soul with terror. Of its ignominy 
she thought little ; for she had a bright certainty that her inno- 
cence would one day be asserted, if not by the blessed hand of 
lleaven, by the good sword of her gallant lover — for Jane Seton 
thought like a true Scottish woman of the sixteenth century. 

While stooping over the only chair her chamber contained, 
on her knees, and in the paroxysm we have described, some one, 
whose entrance she had not heard, touched her on the shoulder. 
She looked up with a stupified aspect, and beheld John of 
the Silvermills, with his long solemn beard, portentous visage, 
and wizard-like cap, embroidered with the emblems of the 
Trinity, eternity, and religion — the triangle, the circle, and the 
cross. He wore a long black cassock-coat, trimmed with white 
fur; a large pouch hung at his girdle, and he leaned on a 
walking staff. He raised his high cap, and partly with respect, 
and partly with fear, assisted her to rise and to seat herselt. 

Jane had become so faint, and had sunk so much since the 
day of trial, that the unglutted and unmerciful authorities feared 
she might escape the fangs of justice, by dying before the fes- 
tival of St. Margaret the Martyr— that night to which all Edin 
burgh, indeed all in the three Lothians, looked forward with 


300 


JANE 8ETON ; OR, 


tiptoe and morbid expectation : thus the learned and deeplv 
read physician of the royal household, John of the Silvermill 
(or, as he signs his name in various documents of that age, 
‘‘ Jhone o’ ye Sillermylne”), was ordered to attend and prescribe 
for her health. 

“ Oh, good Master Apothegar !” she exclaimed, while the 
tears almost started into her arid eyes at the sight of a face 
that was familiar, and which seemed to regard her with some- 
thing akin to commiseration. “ Oh, Master Doctor,” she added, 
taking his hands in her own, “ dost thou think they will destroy 
him too ?” 

“ Him — who ?” stammered the apothegar, disengaging his 
lean and bony fingers from her cold and clammy grasp, as gently 
but decidedly as he could, “ who, madam ?” 

“ Sir Roland Vipont,” replied Jane, disdaining to notice this 
undisguised dread or aversion, though her heart fired at it. 

“ Poor butterfly ! whom one more revolution of the wheel 
of fate will crush — thou thickest not of thyself ” 

“ I think only of him, and of nothing else ; I live but for 
him now — ’tis three days — only three days !” She added, inco- 
herently, “ What is said in the town, at the court, at the palace ? 
Will he be punished for defending me so boldly, so valiantly ? 
My dear Roland — three days — oh, who is like thee ? None — 
and none will ever be like thee ! 

“ I will recast his horoscope, for I know, lady, the star of his 
nativity. This night it will be in Azebone, the head of the 
sixteenth mansion, and by its digression I will judge me of his 
fate. It will require a long and careful calculation, lady,” said 
the deacon of the apothegars, shaking his long beard, solemnly, 
“ and yet, gramercy me ! I have known as mickle foreseen by 
coscinomancy, which meaneth divination by a sieve ; but that. 
as thou knowest, is altogether beneath one like me, who knoweth 
the differerce of sublimities and the distance of the stars.” 

“Oh, Roland — Roland!” murmured Jane (who understood 
not a word of all this), as she pressed her trembling hands upon 
her heart, “ I love thee now with the love of the unfortunate ; 
and that, indeed, is a strong love, for by few are the unfortunate 
loved in return.” 

“ Thy pulse is quick and low,” said the physician, placing 
his bony fingers on her white and slender wrist, which was 
fretted and chafed by the detestable manacle that encircled it ; 
“thou sighest deeply, thou flushest and becomest chilly by 
turns. Is thy tongue dry, and is thy brain giddy ? Yes, I 


THE king’s advocate. 


30 » 

' kijow they are. By the mass, I know thou art intensely feverish. 

Now the pulse flutters, and the skin becomes moist — fever — • 

I lever — nervous fever ! Didst thou take the metheglin my 
I servitor brought thee ?” 

1 “ Yes,” said Jane, mechanically. 

“ Ah ! and were much the better thereof?” 

1 “ I really do not know.” 

! “Ah, you must have been ; ’tis a compound of wort, herbs, 
i honey, and spices, forming a wondrous and soothing restorative.” 

“ What need of a restorative, sir ? In three days all will be 
' over.” 

“We know not what the womb of Time may bring forth, 

I lady : for, verily, it is fruitful of events.” 

“ Oh, that Father St. Bernard was here !” thought Jane ; 
“ how terrible this cold physician is !” 

“ Continue the metheglin,” said her adviser, putting on his 
conical cap, and resuming his staft* “ and from this phial, take 
“1 daily one karena, whilk meaneth, the twentieth part of a 
j drop ” 

; “ Sir, thou art most kind : but remember that in three days 

I I shall be beyond the reach of thy skill ; so farewell, and omit 
I not to pray for me.” 

■I “ Such is life !” replied the other, dreamily. “Oh, that my 
elixir were complete, and then all mankind might live for a 
' thousand years — even as Artesius, the godlike Artesius, lived ! 

I A thousand learned doctors have withered up their brains 
searching for this elixir ; but there is not one among them to 
whom Heaven hath been so propitious as myself. Rejoice with 
me, lady, rejoice ; for it is nearly complete ! Having failed to 
1 discover an herb or mineral to flnish it, I have plunged into 
' the mazes of entomology ; for there are many insects whose 
[ brains or bodies, wings or claws, possess charms of potency. 
Moses, Solomon, Hippocrates, and Aristotle, found wondrous 
properties in locusts and creeping things ; and JElian, the 
Greek, expatiates at great length on those contained in the 
brains and tongues of crickets, wasps, and canthardes ; and 
there were Democritus, Neoptolemus, Philistus, Nicander, 
f Herodius, to say nothing of Albertus Magnus (whose book 
printed at Venice in 1519, has just been sent to me by the 
Spanish ambassador), all of whose writings I have yet to search ; 
i and doubt not, lady, that therein I must discover that which 
shall complete my elixir, and make my poor little laboratory, 
I at the hamlet of Silvermills more famous bv a thousand de- 


302 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


grees, than ever was that of Claudius Galenus, the physician of 
Pergainus.” 

And with this flourish, after reiterating his directions con- 
cerning that precious decoction, which he styled metheglin, to 
be taken with one karena from the phial, this homoeopathist of 
the sixteenth century withdrew, leaving the poor little captive 
stupified and stunned by the energy and fustian of his conver 
sation. 


CHAPTER XLIIL 
David’s tower — the priest. 


“ There’s but one part to )>lay ; shame has done hers, 

But execution must close up the scene ; 

And for that cause these sprigs are worn by all, 

Badges of marriage, now of funeral.” 

Rowley’s Noble Soldier, 1634. 

As the physician retired, Father St. Bernard, Jane’s confessor, 
and daily visitor, and of all the hundreds whom she knew, hei 
only friend, glided softly in, and approached ; for such was the 
terror excited by the accusations against her, that neither 
Marion Logan, nor Alison Hume, had dared to visit her; 
though they had sent many a message, saying, “ how they 
wept and prayed for her,” and so forth. 

She raised her heavy head, and with an expression almost of 
joy, extended her hands towards him ; but the ponderous fet- 
ters weighed them down. 

The priest lifted the chain, and smiled sadly but kindly upon 
her. 

“ Pax Domini sit semper vohiscum^'* said he, making use of 
his invariable phrase. 

“Good Father St. Bernard !” she exclaimed, “can this be 
the work of Heaven or of the fiend ?” 

“Of the fiend, daughter — canst thou doubt it?” 

“ I endure agony that is unutterable when thinking of Roland 
and of my mother. Oh, that she might hear nothing of all 
this ! I have yet so much to sufter ! ” 

The old priest covered his face with the wide sleeve of hia 
cassock, and wept, for he had still warm and acute feelings, 


THE KING S ADVOCATE. 


303 


though a long and ascetic life had somewhat blunted them 
and estranged him from the world. 

“ Can a merciful Heaven afflict me thus, father ?” 

“ Hush, lady ; whatever his miserable creatures may do, God 
is ever merciful and just. We know not but that this visita- 
tion, terrible though it is, may be the means of averting some 
still greater calamity.” 

“ Can any calamity be greater than death ?” 

“ To the unrepentant ? no. But pray, child, pray ; for the 
Christian gathers hope from his prayers, while the poor heretic 
dies despairing and blaspheming.” 

“ Good Father St. Bernard, if I could have been base — if I 
could have stooped, and been coward enough to abandon my 
poor Roland, and wed this frantic, this furious persecutor, all 
this misery might not have happened. It is a frightful alterna- 
tive — a terrible reflection !” 

“ My good child, fear nothing and regret nothing. Think 
of St. Theckla, and of all she endured for shunning the love of 
one she detested ; and now let the bright example of her whom 
St. Isidore of Pelusium styled the protomartyr of her sex, and 
the most glorious ornament of the apostolic age, be as a star and 
a beacon to thee. Shall I tell thee her story, as an old monk 
of Culross told it to me ?” 

Jane bowed her head, in token of assent. 

“ She was the pupil of St. Paul,” said the prebendary, gather- 
ing energy as he spoke, “ and amid pagans, grew in holiness 
like a flower in the desert. Men called her beautiful, but she 
was good as she was beautiful, and gentle as she was good. A 
young noble of Lycaonia loved her ; but the love of God, sayeth 
St. Gregory of Nyssa, burned too strongly in her bosom tc 
admit of a human passion. She repelled his love, and, by the 
practice of every austerity, overcame all earthly affections, and 
subdued her passions in sutffl wise that she became dead to the 
world, living upon it, but not in it — as a beautiful spirit, but 
one having no kindred feeling to those around her. The most 
endearing caresses, the most ardent protestations, the most 
brilliant flatteries and gorgeous presents failed to win her love 
to this young noble ; and lo ! from tender persuasions he betook 
himself to the most terrible threats ; and thereupon, abandoning 
the stately house of her father, with its Grecian luxuries, its 
cnambers of marble, with gilded ceilings and silken carpets, its 
Tyrian hangings, precious sculpture, and vessels of fine gold ; 
abandoning home, friends, country, everything, she retired into 


304 


JANE 8KTON ; OR, 


tlie recesses of a forest to pray for Greece, and to commune 
with the God of the Christians amid silence and solitude , foi 
such was the blessed example of the apostles. 

“ But there her lover, the young Lycaonian, discovered her , 
and, full of wrath and vengeance, accused her of certain hein- 
ous crimes before the magistrates of Isauria, who sentenced he? 
to be torn limb from limb and devoured by wild beasts, in th 
public amphitheatre of the city. The day of doom an ived 
and, naked in that vast arena, with no other covering this. a hei 
innocence, and her long Howing hair that almost enveloped her 
this tender being was exposed to twice ten thousana eyes 
Undaunted in heart, and high in soul, she stood calmly await 
ing her fate from the fangs of those wild animals whom goads 
of steel had urged to frantic madness, and whose deep lioarsi 
bellowing filled even the morbid multitude with dismay. 

The iron gates were withdrawn, and the mighty assemblage 
were awed and frozen into silence, when three enormous lions 
and three gigantic panthers, with manes erect and eyes of fire, 
bounded into the wide arena, where the helpless virgin stood 
in all her purity and resignation. With a simultaneous howl 
they rushed upon her ; but lo ! the mighty hand of Ileaven was 
there ! The lions forgot their ferocity, and the panthers the 
rage of their hunger ; and gently as lambs they crouched before 
St. Theckla, and grovelled in the dust to lick her snow-white feet. 

“The vast multitude, their cruel magistrates, and the more 
cruel Lycaonian lord, were overcome at the sight of this won- 
drous miracle, and permitted her to depart in peace ; and she 
died, at an extreme old age, in Seleucia, where, above her grave, 
may yet be seen the church of the first Christian emperors.” 

Jane listened attentively, and with the utmost good faith, to 
this legend. It was one of the many miraculous tales which 
then formed the stable subjects for the discourses of the old 
clergy on Sundays and festival days, 

“ 1 thank you for this bright example,” said she, “ but I am 
altogether unlike St. Theckla, for I am not above an earthly 
passion ; and none know how dearly and how truly I love him 
to whom I am betrothed. Just Ileaven! I have all that last 
frightful day yet vivid in my memory. The court, so calm, so 
orderly, so formal, so satisfied with themselves, and so full of 
morbid curiosity ; the spectators’ countless eyes ; the judges, s« 
serious and so solemn ; their ten sworn advocates, so silent ano 
so dreamy; and those cold-eyed clerks of court who gazed at 
me from time to time so stolidly, and with a self-satisfied air— 


THE KING S ADVOCATE. 


306 


at me, a poor helpless creature, abandoned to them, overwhelm 
ed with desperation, and blind with fear and sorrow.” 

“ Would that I could die for thee. Lady Jane. I am but a 
poor old prebendary ; the years of my life are many, though 
the days of my joy have been few — few indeed. I would leave 
no one to weep for, and have none that would weep for me. J 
have long been sick of the world ; I have nothing in it now to 
regret, and, save thyself, know none that would regret old Father 
St. Bernard, unless I add a few aged almspeople, my poor peni- 
tent'^. My time in it cannot be long now, and wdllingly would 
I gi"e my life for thine, if such a thing might be. Oh, my 
chiM, thou so nobly born, so carefull37^ nurtured, so innocent 
and so gentle, the most guileless and most docile of my peni- 
tents I Oh, this vile man, this Redhall, is a fiend ! a monster !” 
ex«*Jaimed the priest, suddenly giving way to unwonted pas- 
sion ; “ may the heaviest curses of God fall upon him ! May 
he inherit the leprosy of Gehazi, and the despair of Judas ! 
M^y the earth swallow him up, like Dathan and Abiram ! 
May he sorrow’ like Cain, and may the wrath of God ever be 
UDon him for the misery his unbridled passions, his blind ven- 
2 :ean^e and savage hate, have caused unto thee !” 

‘‘Alas! good Father St. Bernard,” said the gentle being, 
terrified by the old man’s energy, “ ought we not rather to pray 
for him ?” 

“ Thou art right, my daughter, and thy resignation shames 
me 1” replied the priest, whose indignation had, for a moment, 
borne away his bitter feelings. “ Right, right — we are com- 
manded to pray for those who persecute and despitefully use 
us. Thou good soul !” he added, signing the cross upon her 
brcAv, “ may the angel of all purity watch over thee, for thou, 
in thy goodness of heart, art more like unto the angels than 
mortals.” 

“ But oh ! that mode of death — by fire — by fire ! It is so 
frightful !” 

“ The good should fear nothing. The hand which tempers 
the wdnd to the shorn lamb, may temper the flames to thee.” 

She cowered her face in her hands, and began to weep 
Tier tears relieved her. 

“ And I must really die — so young 1 Oh, Roland — Roland !” 

“ Child, thou thinkest more of him than of the will of Heaven. 
There is a sin in this.” 

“ Heaven’s will be done, father. I am not a heroine.” 

“ Its ways are inscrutable,” replied the priest, looking upward. 

20 


«06 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ Hast thou not even once seen Roland, father ?” 

“ Roland, again !” 

“PardoQ me, but I cannot help it. I fear his name will be 
the last on my lips — his image the last in my heart. Oh, for- 
give me this ; but I cannot help it.” 

“ They have accused him of treason.” 

“ But there is hope of mercy for him, surely.” 

“ The proud are ever ungrateful ; and say, who can count on 
the gratitude of kings? They may forget; but God never 
forgets.” 

“ Another day has come and gone — a bright one it has been 
to all the world but poor Roland and me ; the air so soft, so 
bright, so balmy; the leaves so green, the waters so blue, the 
flowers so fresh and smiling. Can all my griefs be possible ? 
Another day, and another — and where shall I be then ?” 

“ This is the very selfishness of grief. Dost think that thou 
and Roland Vipont are the only two unhappy persons in the 
world ?” 

The night was far advanced before Father St. Bernard left 
h^r ; and before that time, his conversation had proved so sooth- 
ing, that in less than an hour after he was gone, she commit- 
ted her aching head to the pillow of the hard paillasse, which 
we have before described as being in a stone recess of the 
apartment, and sank into a deep, but quiet slumber. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


David’s tower — the lover. 


“ I kist with ane sigh the ringlet fair, 

That I shred frae my Marie’s golden hair, 

And I thought that I never would see her mair. 

And when I tryit to rest on my bed, 

The visions of night surrounded ray head. 

But had I the wings of a dove to flee. 

They hadnae parted my Marie and me.” 

Henry Scougall, 1674. 


In another chamber of that vast bastile house, and at the north- 
west corner thereof, which overhung the hollow whei-e the 
church of St. Cuthbert lay, and the marsh that bounded the 
western end of the loch, sat Roland Vipont. 


THE KINGS AD'VOCATE. 


807 


Tlie furniture and appurtenances of liis apartment, without 
being very magnificent, were certainly better by many degrees 
than those aftbrded to his unhappy betrothed ; but then it must 
be remembered that she was accused of sorcery, while he had 
merely committed high treason; and like hamesucken, or rising 
in arms, high treason was but a trivial action among the Scots 
of 1537. 

He was not allowed to visit Jane Seton ; the chamber to 
which the warrant of Redhall had consigned him was one of 
the strongest in the fortress ; and Sir James Riddel was answer- 
able for his body, dead or alive, when demanded, under a 
penalty of ten thousand merks. 

Deprived of everything in the shape of weapons, even to his 
spurs, the lover sat with his arms folded on his breast, his chin 
' (which exhibited an untrimmed beard) resting on his breast, 
his brows knit, and his eyes full of fire, revolving, as he had 
been for the last two days and a sleepless night, and re-revolv- 
ing in anger aiid grief, a niyritid of futile projects. 

“ Gloomy as death, and desolate as hell,” 

his thoughts were too impetuous and incoherent to take any 
ji, permanent or useful form ; but when his eyes rested on the 
enormous iron grating which secured his window, or endea- 
voured to fathom the tremendous abyss that yawned below — that 
abyss where the loch was rolling, every hope died within him, 
I and he became sick ; while the reflection made him become 
j frantic, that though he remained inert, secured and shut up 
within a few feet of him there breathed, suffered, and wept, one 
whom he loved to adoration. 

All his recent adventure? in Douglasdale — the storming of 
Fleming the farmer’s barmkyn — the poisoning of Nichol Birrel 
— the horrors of his return — the trial — his defiance of the court 
— his challenge, and its rejection, had all passed away from 
hia memory, which retained but one episode, one vision — Jane, 
as she appeared before that cruel and determined tribunal — so 
pale, so ghastly, so helpless, and so beautiful. 

The recollection was a frightful one. 

“ And the king, he who loved me so well,” thought he, 
“has he too forgotten me ? James Stuart — James Stuart! the 
Douglasses have said truly, thou art ungrateful ; and more truly 
and more wisely hath the good old countess said unto me a him- 
Ir^d times, ‘ Put not your trust in princes.’ Who now thinks 


308 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


of the ancient wealth and valour of the Viponts ? — who of theif 
courage and patriotism ? The honour of their name lies buried 
in the church of St. Colme, and beneath the moss that clusters 
on Aberdour — my patrimony gifted many a year ago to the 
grasping house of Morton. How unhappy am I ! My whole 
life has been a struggle between poverty and pride, earning by 
wounds, and blood, and toil, hardly and severely, at sword’s 
point, every penny that clinked in my pouch ; for I have been 
a soldier of fortune, or misfortune rather, from my boyhood to 
the present hour. But have I not had some bright moments 
too ? Ah, yes — yes ! those I have passed with Jane — with my 
dear Jeanie ; but they have been like the meteors that have 
shot over a dark winter sky ; they are passed now, and a double 
gloom remains behind.” 

His apartment had two windows, one which opened to the 
west, and another to the north ; and through both shone the 
last flush of the red sunset. 

Now two voices beneath the west window, by attracting his 
attention, interrupted his sad thoughts, and he listened. 

The speakers were in familiar conversation ; but there was 
something so hateful in their tones, that his heart trembled 
with rage as he recognised them ; and impelled alike by hatred 
and a fearful curiosity, he drew near to listen. 

In an angle of the ramparts, where the curtain wall joined a 
corner of the tower, the two gossips were seated on the stock 
of a large brass culverin : thev were Nichol Birrel and Sanders 
Screw. 

The yellow, livid visage, matted hair, and enormously thick 
beard of the former, and the shrivelled legs, nutcracker visage 
of the latter, were distinctly visible in the clear summer twi- 
light ; and there was a broad grin on the face of each as they 
conversed on a subject which, as it was pecuniary, interested 
them both in a high degree. 

“ Twenty merks and fifteen mak five and thirty merks,” said 
Birrel, counting on his huge misshapen fingei-s. 

“ Ay,” responded Screw, with another wide grin, as he held 
a piece of paper up to the light, which came from the west. 

“The deil !” said Birrel, “ye dinna mean to pretend that ye 
can read^ friend Sanders ?” 

“ No, but I ken ilka item oflf by heart.” 

“ Let me hear, then.” 

“ First,” said Sanders, pointing with a finger to the crumpled 
paper, which he ogled with the corners of his bleared eyes, as 


THE king’s advocate. 


809 


he indicated each item insiiccession, “ first : A-Ccompt of the 
haill expenses for ye burning of Lady Jean Seton, umquhile of 
Ashkirk, at ye staik, Saint Margaret’s Day, fifteen hundred 
and thirty-seven ’ ” 

“ Weel ?” 

“ Hoolie, man !” responded Sanders, scratching his head, 
“ ‘ Item ; for one staick of aik tree, a penny. 

‘‘ ‘ Item ‘ for twelve bundles o’ faggots, saxpence. 

“ ‘ Item ; for three barrels o’ tar and tallow, ten shillings. 

“ ‘ Item ; for greased flax and gunpowder, sax shillings. 

“ ‘ Item ; for an iron chain to bind her to the staik, twenty 
Flemish rydars. 

“ ‘ Item ; for a pair o’ steel branks and one padlock, to 
Jhone, the lorimar, at ye Tron, aucht shillings of our Scots 
monie. Summa ’ ” 

“Hech ! ye’ll hae gude profit oflf a’ this; for 1 ken ye saved 
as mickle tar, flax, and faggots frae the burning and worrying 
o’ fat Father Macgridius as will put ye owre this job, and mair.” 

“ Never you heed that,” replied Sanders, pawkily ; “ how 
mickle got ye for the brodding o’ her ?” 

“ Sax pund Scots.” 

“ Sax pund ! my certie, think o’ that ! Witch pricking is 
profitable wark.” 

“ Had ye seen Friar Gourlay,” said Dobbie, with a leer, as 
he came up and joined them, “ by my faith ! he burned brawly 
when the cardinal had him harled to the Calton and worrit for 
his foul heresies. We put a tarred frock on him, sewit ower 
wi’ bags o’ grease and powder, and piled the weel oiled faggots 
knee-deep about him. We then fastened up his body to the 
stake by three iron cask-hoops that held him erect as a lance, 
and the fire bleezed round him like a war beacon. His yells 
and skirls were awsome to hear ; but the smoke and the heat 
soon chokit him ; and then, when the breeze blew the fire aside, 
we saw him standing upright and stark in the middle o’t. 
Then his belly fell out, and the flames shot up between his 
birselled ribs and out at his scouthered jaws, his eyen and ear- 
holes ! By my soul ! gossip Birrel and gossip Screw, it was an 
awsome sicht, and one to baud in meraorie !” Ever Dobbie, 
connoisseur as he was in these matters, shuddered at the recol- 
lection of this extra-judicial atrocity. 

“But come,” said Birrel, “ there is St. Cuthbert’s bellstnking 
ten, and we have muckle to do wi’ this dame ere morning 
peeps.” 


310 


JANE seton; or, 


The trH> then knocjked at the iron gate of David’s Towei, 
to which they were admitted. 

Roland had heard but a part of their frightful conversation ; 
it was beyond the power of human endurance to listen to all 
those wretches said. He rushed into the farthest corner of his 
apartment, covered his ears with his hands, and wept and 
groaned aloud in the utter impotency of his rage and grief. 
But how much wilder would that rage and grief have been, had 
he known that they were all gone to visit his hapless mistress, 
for the double purpose of performing some of those additional 
tortures to which those accused of sorcery were usually sub- 
jected, by order of the supreme tribunal in Scotland, and at 
the same time to accomplish another cruel plan of Sir Adam 
Otterburn’s device. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

THE BOON. 


“ Now is’t a deed of mercy brings thee here,— 

Of mercy to a suffering fellow man, 

Or is’t his rank that summons all thy pity. 

And lends thy tongue its load of eloquence ?” 

Old Play. 

On leaving King David’s Tower, Father St. Bernard passed 
through the Spur, by the Castle Port, and descended the Castle- 
hill-street into the city. 

The bells tolled the hour of nine in the Maison Dieu, at the 
head of Bell’s Wynd, as he passed it, and he saw the lights 
gleaming in the chapel of this edifice, which stood on the south 
side of the High-street. 

The vast height of its buildings cast a dusky shade over this 
thoroughfare ; and the steep narrow closes which diverged on 
each side from it, were almost buried in obscurity. In each of 
tl>e small round archways, which gave admittance to these deep 
and ghostly alleys, when the night advanced an oil lamp was 
lighted, a remarkable improvement at this early period, when 
neither London nor Paris could boast of such an advance in 
civilization, for which our citizens were solely indebted to theii 
good king James V. 


THE king’s advocate. 


Sll 


Findi :g that Edinburgh was becoming a place of resort from 
all parts of the kingdom, in 1532, the monarch so far influenced 
the town council, that the High-street was well paved with 
large stones, quarried among the Craigs of Salisbury. Many 
of the more ancient tenements were removed, renovated, or 
made more ornamental ; while, as before stated, the citizens had 
to hang out lanterns to light the narrow thoroughfares ; but as 
these were made of horn and were fed with oil, they shed but 
a dim and wavering radiance on the enormous stone bastilles 
and overhanging Flemish fronts, which are still the leading 
features of the old grey city of the Stuarts and Alexanders. 

The watching was performed by the burghers, every man 
within the barriers being on guard every fourth night. Thus the 
whole citizens had to perform military service in rotation, armed 
as infantry soldiers of the period, with helmet, corslet and steel 
gloves, arquebuse and dagger, or with sword, poleaxe, and parti- 
san. The citizens of Edinburgh enjoyed the distinction of 
wearing “ quhite hatts,” ^. e., helmets of burnished steel ; and 
.,he whole were arrayed under their baillies four times in the 
year at a general weaponshow ; but to return. 

The prebendary descended the Blackfriars Wynd, at the foot 
whereof projected the turret which still indicates the cardinal’s 
dwelling. Grasped by the teeth of a grotesque stone monster, 
a lantern hung above the doorway, and lighted a large stone 
panel, whereon were carved and gilded the armorial bearings 
of Bethune of Balfour, overshadowed by the cardinal’s tasselled 
hat. Here the poor priest paused for a moment, and muttered 
a fervent prayer for the success of his merciful errand, and then 
he tirled the pin, timidly at first, but boldly afterwards. 

After a brief reconnoissance being made of his person through 
the vizzying hole, the door was opened by one of the cardinal’s 
guards, who wore the arms of the archbishopric on the breast oi 
his purple doublet. 

“ Is his eminence at home ?” 

“ Yea, Father,” replied the pikeman, falling back a pace 
with a profound salute. 

Please to announce that Father St. Bernard of St. Giles, 
craves the honour of speaking with him alone.” 

“ Deliver this message to my young Lord Lindesay,” said the 
pikeman to another of the guard, who had overheard the re- 
quest ; and in less than a minute, that young noble, who was 
the betrothed of Beaton’s daughter, and who acted as his page 
and et^uerry, appeared, bonnet in hand, 


»12 


JANE SETON ; OK, 


“ His eminence desires me to say, that Father St Bernard is 
welcome at all times,” said he. 

Ascending the narrow stone stair of this antique mansion, 
and preceded by young Lindesay, whose crimson velvet mantle 
and peach-coloured doublet were covered with glittering em- 
broidery, the prebend, on passing through an opening in a 
gorgeous arras, found himself in presence of the primate of all 
Scotland, the legate of Paul III. 

Brilliantly lighted by candles of perfumed wax, which burned 
in rose-coloured globes of Venetian glass, the chamber, in which 
we had the honour of introducing the reader to the foe of Henry 
VHI., and the terror of the Calvinists, to the eye of the poor 
priest, formed a striking contrast to his own humble dormitory 
at St. Giles ; but he was not a man to permit such thoughts to 
dwell an instant in his mind* ; and dismissing them at once, he 
knelt before the cardinal’s chair, to kiss the white hand which 
that great and luxurious prince of the church extended gra- 
ciously towards him. 

He was seated in a large and easy chair of stuffed velvet ; 
his feet were encased in slippers of morocco, red as his stock- 
ings, and rested on a gilded footstool. Two vases of Italian 
glass, exquisitely carved, and glittering with the golden-coloured 
and purple wine they contained, together with two silver 
baskets, one full of honied biscuits and the other of grapes, 
showed that his eminence had been solacing his solitary hour ; 
for a ghittern that lay on a chair announced that his daughter, 
the Lady Margaret, had just retired, and the young Lord Linde- 
say, having no occasion to remain, followed her ; thus the 
priest found himself alone with the cardinal, before whom all 
his confidence vanished ; for despite his conscious rectitude oi 
heart and goodness of intention, in presence of the second man 
in Scotland, the poor prebend became timid as a child. 

“Welcome, Father St. Bernard!” said the cardinal, pointing 
to a seat near his own : “ you look pale and fatigued, Here 
are red and white Italian wines, and these are better than our 
ordinary Rochelle or Bourdeaux. To which shall I have the 
pleasure of assisting you ? and then we will to business after ; 
For I am certain thou hast come to me on business ; no one,” 
continued the studious cardinal, closing a book he had been 
reading, “ no one, save my Lord Lindesay, comes near Payid 
Beaton for mere friendship, I find. Red wine or white ?” 

“ Either, please your eminence — the flask that is next you.” 

Re^ssur^d by the frank manner of the cardinal, and by tb« 


THE kino’s advocate 


813 


luscious Greco that moistened liis tongue, which had been 
parched and dry, St. Bernard was about to speak, when the 
cardinal again addressed him. 

‘‘ Dost thou come with new tidings of this Calvinistic heresj, 
which spreadeth, even as foul leprosy, over Scotland ; or,” he 
added, re-opening his volume, which was The Franciscan^ of 
George Buchanan, “ or comest thou merely here, as this arch 
heretic sayeth, to exhibit — 


“ the greasy shaven head, 

A gloomy friar, with flowing gown outspread ! 

The twisted girdle, and the hat’s hroad brim, 

The opened shoe dressed out in monkish trim ; 

Below the garb, where we so oft will find, 

A brutal tyrant, whom no law can bind ; 

The robber who oppression’s armour wields, 

The sensual glutton, to excess who yields. 

To deck the husband's brow, the night will spend ; 

The faithless lover, and deceitful friend ! 

His modest face, though false, worn as a cloak, 

To gull the plebeian, and delude the flock ; 

Tea hundred thousand crimes, wild, dark, and deep. 

He hides beneath the clothing of the sheep 1” — 

“ Holy mother of God !” exclaimed the cardinal (who had read 
Si this passage ironically and emphatically), as he flung the volume 
to the farthest end of the apartment, “ and thou permittest this 
wretch to encumber the earth ! Holy St. Francis of Assisium I 
thou whose life was a miracle of humility ; who in a glorious 
vision beheld our Saviour hanging on his cross, and thou hast 
permitted the heretic dog, who writes thus of thy clergy, again 
to escape me !” 

“ I heard that he had broken forth from your eminence’s archi- 
episcopal castle of St. Andrew’s, some months ago.” 

“ True, — while my guards (the drunken rascals !) slept ; but 
I should have made them answer for him body for body. Truly, 
the college of St. Barbe hath reason to be proud of its professor, 
this learned Buchanan, for there he is at present teaching gram- 
mar and the humanities ; and now I hear that the Earl of Cas- 
f.'j silis (whom I know to be an arch-heretic, traitor, and corres- 
ponder with Henry of England) is about to secure him from me 
in his castle of Culzean, as a tutor for his son, the Lord Gilbert 
Kennedy. By the Cross, he is a rare tutor ! But let this lord 
beware; for though he is a brother of Quentin Kennedy, that 
good Abbot of Crossraguell, whose pieties are those of a saint, 
the people of Scotland shall see whether a cardinal’s hat or an 
earl’s coronet will weigh the heavier in the scales of justice and 
of Heaven.” 



S14 


JANE SKTON ; OR, 


The cardinal was both exasperated and satirical. Father Si, 
Bernard found that he had chosen an unfortunate time to preter 
his request, and while he was rallying all his thoughts to intro- 
duce a more pleasing topic of conversation than that broached 
by the cardinal, the latter said, suddenly, but in a milder tone : 

“And now my good old friend, St. Bernard, what dost thou 
wish me to do for thee ?” 

“ May it please youi eminence to grant me your patience 
and pardon.” 

The cardinal put one leg over the other, laid his hand upon 
his wine-cup, and nodded, as much as to say — “ Good : I see 
the reverend father has some request to make of me.” 

“ My Lord Cardinal, dost thou remember the 30th of August, 
1534?” 

“The 30th of August, 1534!” repeated the cardinal, pon- 
dering. 

“ That 30th of August, when I implored your eminence not 
to pass through Fife to St. Andrew’s.” 

“I do,” said the cardinal, becoming suddenly animated, “for 
there were certain mysterious circumstances — but what of that 
now ? ’tis three years ago.” 

“ My lord, I know not whether that which I am about to reveal 
be a sin, or whether, by so doing, I am breaking the irrevoca- 
ble seal of confession; the man who told what I am about to 
relate, made afterwards a public confession, when he was expir- 
ing in the streets of Kinghorn, but of all the crowd around him, 
I alone understood to what he referred — unhappy being!” 

“ Go on,” said the cardinal, sipping his wine, “ I am already all 
ears and impatience.” 

“ On the evening of the 26th of August, just the day before 
Straitoun and Gourlay were burned for heresy at Greenside, I 
was seated in the public confessional at St. Giles, when a man 
entered in great agony of mind, and knelt down before me. 
This man, my lord, was one whom the secret orations of the 
Reformers and the mal-influence of his chief, for he was a fol- 
lower of old Sir John Melville of Raith, had partly led astray 
from the fold of the true faith. He was Jaines Melville, the 
gudeman of Pitargie. The blessed hand of God was in it ! 
Like a dark cloud, remorse had descended upon this lost one, 
and he informed me, that with sixteen others he had sworn to 
slay your eminence as you passed along the road to St. Andrew’s 
on the morrow ; and that this ambuscade of assassins were to 
oe in waiting near the tower of Seafield, to the eastward of 


THE king’s advocate. 


316 


Kiiighorn. In vain did I command him not to criminate others ; 
but he told me, that your deadliest enemies, John Leslie of 
Farkhill, Peter Carmichael of Kilmadie, Sir James Kirkaldy of 
the Grange, the Melvilles of Raith and of Carnbee, the Lord 
Rothes, and the Laird of Kinfaw^ns would be there. That 
Henry of England was in the plot, aad had offered them magni- 
licent bribes ; and that one of his ships lay cruizing at the East 
Neuk, to secure for these seventeen conspirators a safe retreat 
to his own dominions, whither they were to bring your emi 
nence’s scarlet cope, drenched in blood, as a token that the deed 
was done, that their lust of vengeance had been sated, and 
that thou, like another Becket, had fallen beneath their swords. 

“ As the conscience-stricken assassin proceeded, I became 
frozen with horror. With groans and with tears he concluded 
his dark narrative, and beating his breast, implored me to 
make what use of his confession I pleased, but at all risks to 
save your eminence. To warn you was impossible, for the 
confessional sealed my lips ! And I saw you — you, the great- 
est hope of our sinking church, and the chief pillar of the Scot- 
tish throne, its bulwark against English aggression, and Henry’s 
grasping and heretical spirit, about to fall ! Your eminence was 
to be shot by arquebusses, after leaving the ferryboat at King- 
horn. After long and deep thought, the penitent begged that 
I would use all my little inffuence to detain your Eminence for 
two hours upon your journey, and you may, perhaps, remem- 
ber ” 

“ Thy coming to me on the second day after the auto-da-fe 
at Greenside, and imploring me to delay by two hours my jour- 
ney into Fife,” said the cardinal, as he arose and took in his the 
hands of the priest. “ Thou good and venerable man ! I 
remember well thy diffidence, confusion, and timidity ; thy fear 
of being ridiculed and thy dread of offending me ; and how 
I railed and stormed at thy superstitious presentiment, as I now 
remember with regret I named it ! Well ?” 

“ At twelve o’clock, on the 30th of August, the knights and 
gentlemen I have named, with others, to the number of sixteen 
persons, all fleetly mounted and well armed, with arquebusses 
and wheel-lock calivers, posted themselves among the copsewood 
that overhangs certain thick hedge-rows, which lie between 
Kinghorn and Sir Henry Moultray’s tower at Seafield. The 
king of England’s ship, with all her sails set, was verging neai 
the shore, while a Scottish flag, to mask her nation and purpose, 
was displayed from her mainmast head. The consjiratora 


816 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


loaded their fire- Arms with poisoned balls, and carefully blew 
their matches as the bells, of St. Leonard’s tower tolled twelve. 
It was the time at which these assassins, who were posted eight 
on each side of the way, expected your eminence. 

“The twelfth stroke of the hour was scarcely given, when 
they perceived a man, attired exactly like your eminence, in a 
baretta, cope, and stockings of scarlet, come riding up the nar- 
row horseway, between the dark green hedgerows ” 

“ What is it thou tellest me ? My wraith !” 

The priest smiled. 

“ The seeming cardinal came on, riding fast, as if in advance 
of his followers : when, lo ! sixteen arquebusses and calivera 
flashed from the screens of thick hawthorn and dark green 
holly, and prone to the earth fell horse and man, wallowing in 
their blood.” 

“ Agnus Dei P' 

“With a shout, the assassins rushed forward to imbrue their 
hands yet further in blood, and found that they had slain — not 
David Beaton the cardinal, but one of themselves — Raith’s own 
kinsman, James Melville, the gudeman of Pitargie ! He was 
carried to Kinghorn, and there, as I have said, he died. With- 
out informing me of his project, further than to delay you, he 
had thus been guilty of self-immolation, as having no other 
method of punishing his own crime and saving your eminence. 
And so you were saved. I delayed you at the pier of Leith, 
for two hours, and at the very moment you embarked, the mock 
cardinal was shot on the shore of Fife. On returning, your 
eminence was pleased to remember kindly my warning and pre- 
sentiment, as you still named it : then, my lord, you promised 
me, that if ever I wished a boon that was in your power, I should 
consider it as already granted.” 

“ True — true, my good friend, my reverend brother, I remem- 
ber it all.” 

“ You spoke of many a deanery, and many a rectory that 
were vacant, in Angus, Mearn, and Buchan ; but I still find 
myself the poor prebend in the parish kirk of St. Giles ” 

“ Yes, yes — I feel that I have been ungrateful, and thou 
justly uj)braidest me,” said the cardinal, hastily opening a port- 
folio, “ there is the Benedictine Priory of St. Mary, at Fvvie. 
the superior of which ” 

“ Nay, Lord Cardinal, nay ! Our Lady forbid I should ever 
presume to upbraid thee. I am but too glad that among the 
maze of more, important matters, my service has been forgotten * 


THE king’s advocate. 


sn 


and thus tliat I can still appear as a creditor, and request 
the fulfilment of jour promise.” 

“ Full of shame for having so long forgotten it, I swear to 
grant whatever you ask, that may lie in ray power to bestow.” 

“ Oh, my Lord Cardinal, I seek nothing for myself,” said the 
poor priest, glancing, like Sterne’s Franciscan, at the sleeve of 
his threadbare garment ; “ my wants are few, though my years 
are many, and I have neither desire nor ambition, but in th 
service of our Master who is in Heaven.” 

The old man paused, and the great prince of the church, 
surrounded by wealth and luxury, grasping all but regal power, 
and loaded by the rank and riches of his Scottish, his French, 
and Italian titles, felt how great was the gulph between him- 
self and this humble but purer follower of the apostles. 

“ If in my power,” said he, “ thy boon is granted.” 

“ I seek the pardon of my poor penitent,” replied St. Ber- 
nard, clasping his hands : “ I seek the pardon of the Lady 
Jane Seton.” 

The cardinal started. 

“ Impossible !” he replied, “ for the life of this woman is not 
in my hands.” 

“ But it is in the hands of the king ; and being so, is, I may 
say, also in thine, my lord. Thou alone canst save her, for, 
selfish in his grief, our good king has abandoned everything 
to his ministers.” 

“ Forgiveness for her — a Seton — the daughter of a Douglas, 
and the grandchild of old Greysteel ! Friar, thou ravest ! the 
thing is not to be thought of ; besides, from all my lord advo- 
cate has told me, she must have been deeply guilty.” 

“ Oh, good my lord cardinal, dost thou, in the greatness of 
thy mind, conceive that such a crime as sorcery may be ?” 

“ I do not — I believe too implicitly in the power of God, to 
yield so much to that of his fallen angel ; and I believe, that 
as Calvinism spreads in Scotland, so will this new terror of 
sorcery. I have not studied the trial, but shall do so to-niglit, 
and with care.” 

“ A thousand grateful thanks !” 

“ Immersed as I am among the affairs of this troubVsome 
state (for its chancellorship costs me dear), and sworn as I am 
to extinguish by fire and sword the heresies of Calvin, which 
are spreading like a wildlire among our Scottish towns and 
glens, I can afiord but little time for the consideration of minoi 
matters, such as this trial. Thou art, indeed, an auld farraM 


318 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


buckle,” added the cardinal, with a smile ; “ and well hast thou 
played thy cards ; so rest assured, that if David Beaton can 
save thy penitent, with justice — she is savedP 

Father St. Bernard’s heart was too full to reply : he raised 
his mild eyes to the ceiling, and crossed his wrinkled hands 
upon his breast. 

“ On Sunday first, I am to say a solemn mass for Queen 
Magdalene in my cathedral church at St. Andrew’s,” resumed 
the cardinal. “ Sorely I regret that poor girl’s death ; but dost 
thou know that the Scottish church had much to fear from 
her ; for reared and educated as she had been by her almost 
heretic aunt, the queen of Navarre, she was inclined to view 
too leniently this clamour raised by the heretics for liberty of 
conscience, as they are pleased to term their abominable 
creed — a creed by which they make our blessed Gospels like 
the bagpipe, on which every man may play a tune of his own 
devising. On my way to St. Andrew’s I will visit the king at 
Falkland, and this time, rest assured, my reverend friend, my 
promise shall not be forgotten.” 

“ Oh, my lord !” murmured the now happy old man ; “ your 
eminence overwhelms me.” 

“There is now little time to lose. Young Balquhan and 
twenty arquebusiers of the king’s guard must accompany me, 
in addition to the pikemen of my own ; and the moment the 
pardon or order of release (if I deem her worthy of it, and 
receive it) is expede, Leslie shall reiurn with it on the spur to 
Sir James of Cranstoun-Riddel and, as a sign that the interview 
was over, the cardinal, with an air of elegance and grace, 
which he possessed above all the courtiers of his time, gave 
the priest his jewelled hand to kiss, and thankfully and reve- 
rently this good man, who was old enough to be his father, 
kneeled down and kissed it. 

“ A thousand blessings on your eminence ! Dominus vobis- 
cum'' said the priest. 

“ Dominus vohiscum et cum spiritu tuo'' said the cardinal, 
and stretched out his hand to a silver bell, which he rang. 

Hurrying out from an inner chamber. Lord Lindesay drew 
back the arras which covered the doorway. 

Then, as the priest with a joyous heart was about to retire, 
he was appalled by the spectral figure of Redhall (who had 
the private entrk of the cardinal’s apartments at all h(urs), 
standing close behind the thick, heavy tapestry. 

He started hurriedly forward, and the friar saw but too well 


THE king’s advocate. 


319 


that he had not only been listening, but had overheard, per- 
haps, the whole o^ their conversation. 

His aspect was fearful ; remorse, terror, and despair, had 
wrought their worst upon him. His jaws had become haggards 
and his visage pallid; -but the priest thought that he read a 
gleam of hatred and rage in his eyes as he passed him. 

“ If he has been listening, and should undo all I have 
done !” thought St. Bernard, breathlessly, as he hurried down 
into the dark Wynd of the Blackfriars ; “ but his eminence 
has promised, and blessed be him, my poor little child ia 
saved !” 

Full of joy, and feeling as if a mountain had been removed 
from him, the good old prebend knelt down in the dark and 
deserted street, and baring his bald head, returned thanks to 
Heaven and his patron saint for having inclined the lord chan 
cellor to hear favourably the prayer he had just preferred. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

t 

THIRST ! 

“ ’Twas thou, O love ! whose dreaded shafts control. 

The hind’s rude heart, and tear the hero’s soul ; 

Thou ruthless power, with bloodshed never cloyed, 

’Twas thou thy lovely votary destroyed : 

Thy thirst still burning for a deeper woe, 

In vain for thee the tears of beauty flow.” 

The Lusiad of Camoens 

• Aware that he had been seen by the friar in the act of listen- 
ing, the lord advocate decided in a moment upon the course to 
pursue. He resolved that the promised pardon should iMver 
reach Edinburgh ; but being too wary to make any reference 
10 the conversation he had just heard, after simply giving the 
great cardinal a paper concerning an annual subsidy from the 
' clergy, which was to be presented to James V. at Falkland on 
the morrow, he retired, and hastened to his own house in the 
Oanongate, where, with the utmost impatience, he awaited the 
return of Nichol Birrel, whom, with Dobbie and Sanders Screw, 
he had sent on a devilishly contrived mission to the Castle of 
Edinburgh, whither we shall return to observe them. 


320 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


From Ills window Roland had seen them enter David’s 
Tower by the iron gate at the bottom of the stair, by which 
they ascended straight to the chamber where Jane Seton was 
confined. 

After the priest had left her, the latter had become more 
calm, though St. Bernard had not held out to her the faintest 
hope of mercy or compassion from those powers which had 
abandoned her to die, or of rescue from that once tenable tac- 
tion to which her family belonged — that faction now so scat- 
tered, crushed, and broken. 

In her prison this sad and lonely being had watched the 
woods and water darkening far below her ; had watched the 
stars as one by one they sparkled out upon the night, and she 
envied the airy freedom of the passing clouds as they rolled 
through the sky — the blue twilight sky of a still and beautiful 
summer gloaming. In masses of fleecy white or pale gold, as 
they were tinted by the rising moon, they sailed on the soft 
west wind in a thousand changing forms. 

The very weariness of long grief overcame her, and she lay 
down on the humble pallet afforded her by the orders of the 
castellan, to sleep — for she had not slumbered during many 
nights, and on this night, like her thirst, her fatigue was excessive. 

Her couch was a mere paillasse, with a pillow ; for in every- 
thing she was made to feel painfully that she was the — con- 
demned witch ! 

The bread given her during the two past days had been 
unusually salt and bitter ; she endured great thirst ; but the 
warder had removed the humble vessel that contained the 
water for her use, and now, without a drop to moisten her 
parched lips, she lay down to sleep. Her bread had been pur- 
posely salted to excess, and thus, having been many hours with- 
out a drop of water, her sufferings were greatly increased ; and 
when she slept, there arose before her visions of streams pour- 
ing in white foam, of verdant banks or moss-green rocks, of 
fountains that gushed and sparkled in marble basins, which 
most tantalizingly receded or vanished when joyfully she at- 
tempted to drink of them. At other times, her kind old 
mother, or Roland Vipont, with their well-remembered smiles 
of love, approached her with cups of water or of wine; but 
these dear forms faded away when the longed-for beverage 
touched her lips ; and then she started and awoke to solace 
herself with her bitter tears— the only solace of which the 
cruel authorities could not deprive her. 


THE king’s advocate. 


321 


She slept lightly, as a bird sleeps on its perch ; but not so 
lightly as to hear her prison door opened by the Messrs. Birrel, 
Dobbie, and Screw, whose faces were made more villanous and 
sinister by the yellow rays of an oil lamp, which darted up- 
wards upon them. Birrel’s visage, square and mastilf in aspect, 
livid in colour, and surrounded by a forest of sable hair above 
and below ; Dobbie, with the eyes and moustachios of a cat ; 
and Sanders Screw, though utterly destitute of any such ap- 
pendages to his mouth, exhibiting in his nutcracker jaws and 
bleared eyes, a sardonic grin of cruelty and intoxication. 

He carried a large Flemish jar, which, strange to say, was 
brimful of pure cold water. 

Birrel raised his lamp, the lurid flame of which made yet 
more livid his yellow visage and ruffian eyes ; and its sickly 
rays shone on the face of Jane ; but the calm and divine smile 
that played upon her thin and parted lips, failed to scare from 
their purpose these demons, hardened as they were in every 
species of judicial cruelty. 

Jane was dreaming of her lover, and in her self embodied 
thoughts originated that beautiful smile. 

Softly, but soundly, after all she had endured, this poor vic- 
tim of superstition and revenge was sleeping now, and dream- 
ing, fondly and joyously — for in a dream every sensation is 
a thousand times more acute than it could be in reality — 
dreaming of that long life which was denied her, on this earth 
at least ; she felt on her cheek the kiss of her young and gal- 
lant lover ; she saw his waving plume and his doublet of clotb 
of gold ; his voice was in her ear, and it murmured of his faith 
and love, that, like her own, would never die. 

Her lips unclosed — an exclamation of rapture would have 
escaped her, when Birrel’s iron fingers grasped her tender 
arm — and she awoke with a start and a cry of despair. 

“ Gude e’en to ye, cummer Jean,” said he, insolently ; “ byde 
ye wauken, or fare ye waur ; for gif ye sleep, see^ madam the 
sorceress,” and he shook before her eyes the steel brod, or 
needle, which was the badge of his hateful office. 

Seated upon one side of her bed, Jane recoiled from these 
men, who regarded her with eyes that to her seemed as those 
of rattlesnakes, for they were pitiless in heart, and merciless a« 
the waves of the sea. 

We know not if we possess the power to describe the pas- 
Bages of that night in the vaulted chamber of Da'dd’s Tower. 

In the days of the witch mania in Scotland it was the gu.s- 
21 


322 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


tom, at the desire of the lord president of the college of justice, 
of the lord advocate, of the sheriflf, or baillie of barony or rega- 
lity, or whoever had tried and condemned a sorceress, to 
subject her (even after trial) to a further ordeal ; for no perse- 
cution, even unto the last hour, was deemed too severe for 
those unhappy beings who were accused of the imaginary 
crime of selling their souls to Satan, and thus irrevocably 
dooming themselves to a punishment that was everlasjt-ing. 

Two of the most favourite modes of prolonged torture were, 
to prevent the prisoner from sleeping by every device that the 
most infernal ingenuity could suggest, and to feed them on 
bread salted most liberally, to produce an intense thirst, to 
assuage which the least drop of water was denied them. 

Under this treatment many became insane, for the kirk 
sessions carried it to the most ferocious excess in the seven- 
teenth century. 

On being awakened, and partially recovering from her terror, 
Jane’s first sensation was an inordinate desire for water ; her 
thirst was excessive. Her tongue was parched and painful, for 
her food during the two past days had been coarse dry wheaten 
bannocks, rendered bitter by the plentiful supply of salt used 
in their composition. She had been too much accustomed to 
the most cruel and unceremonious intrusions, to express her 
keen sense of the present one, otherwise than by her flashing 
eyes and dilated nostrils, for her heart swelled with indigna- 
tion ; but, on perceiving the jar in the hands of Sanders Screw, 
her first thought was to satisfy her thirst, and she implored 
them to give her a cup of water. 

At this plaintive request, a grin spread over the weasel visage 
of Screw and the cat-like eyes of Bobbie, while Birrel, who 
was somewhat intoxicated, replied with his habitual tone of 
insolence — 

“By my faith, cummer Jean, ye shall be thirstier and 
drouthier than even was I in Douglasdale, ere a drop rins 
ower your craig.” 

Screw set down the jar, placing himself between it and their 
victim. The lamp was also placed on the floor, and seating 
themselves around it, Bobbie produced from his wide trunk 
hose of buckram a pack of dirty and dog-eared cards. Each 
worthy official then placed beside him a flask of usquebaugh, 
the cards were dealt round, and the campaign of the night 
commenced with an old game at which the three might play, 
and Birrel could cheat to his heart’s content, notwithstanding 


THE king's advocate. 


323 


that Dobbie knew the backs as well as the fronts of his favourite 
pack of cards. 

For a time Jane gazed at them with the same startled and 
dismayed expression that the sudden appearance of three rep- 
tiles might have excited ; and again she begged a cup of water, 
for her thirst (which had been increasing the live-long day, and 
to which her salted food, the drugs of the physician, and the 
grief that preyed upon her, all alike conduced) had now at- 
tained a degree of torture and intensity which hitherto she 
could not have conceived. 

Her entreaties were replied to with laughter ; and it seemed 
as if the sight of the liberal draughts imbibed by the trio from 
their flasks increased the desire of the poor captive ; but hei 
prayers and tears were unheeded, and noisily the game went on 

Two horn’s passed thus ! 

The players had drained their flasks, and amid much cursing 
quarrelling, and vociferation, the loose change had rapidlj 
passed from hand to hand, until the whole, amounting to some 
where about ten crowns, a few fleur-de-lis groats, and whit« 
pennies of James III., were lodged in the pouch of Birrel, whc 
trimmed the lamp with his fingers, «and offered a brass bodle to 
each of his companions that the game might begin anew ; but. 
as the cards were being redealt, he perceived that, despite their 
brutal uproar, overcome by weariness and torture of mind and 
body, the unhappy girl had again fallen into an uneasy slum- 
ber. 

Upon this the brodder arose with a growl, and drawing his 
needle from its sheath, gave her a severe puncture in the arm. 
The pain of this made her again, with a shriek, start up wildly 
from her sitting posture ; and, uncovering her snow-white arm 
to the elbow, she found that blood was flowing from the deep 
incision. 

With her imploring eyes full of horror, she turned towards 
Birrel and endeavoured to speak, but her tongue, which clove 
to the roof of her mouth, failed, at first, to articulate a syllable ; 
and her lips were hard and dry. 

“ Did I not tell ye quhat ye micht expect gif ye dared to 
sleep ?” said Birrel, savagely. 

She made a gasping effort to speak. 

“ Water !” she said, in a “husky whisper, “ water— a single 
drop, for the love of God !” 

“ Oho,” ffi’inned Screw, “ the saut bannocks are now telling 
Ales !” 


324 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


He held the Flemish jar of polished pewter before her eyes, 
and shook the limpid water till it sparkled in the light. 

“ The haill o’ this is for you, dame Seton,” said Birrel, “ hut 
there is a sma’ bit ceremony to be gone through first.” 

“ Water ! water !” moaned Jane, in a whispering voice, feel- 
ing as if her throat was scorched, and her dry, parched tongue 
was swollen to twice its usual size. “ Oh, man, man !” she 
added, clasping her hands, “ I will pray for you — I will bless 
you in my last hour, with my whole heart, and with my whole 
soul, for one drop, a single drop of water !” - 

There never was a villain so bad as to be without one redeem- 
ing trait ; thus, even Dobbie the doomster had his ; and now 
the piteous tone of Jane’s husky voice, her pallid face, her 
intreating and bloodshot eyes, had stirred some secret chord 
of human sympathy in the recesses of his usually iron heart. 
He poured a little water into a cup, and approached her. 
Jane’s eyes flashed with thankfulness and joy; but Birrel 
dashed away the cup with one hand, and laid the other on his 
poniard. 

Jane uttered a tremulous cry of despair. 

“ Thou false coof and half-witted staumrel !” exclaimed the 
witchfinder ; “ is it thus ye obey the orders of Redhall, who 
is our master ? Look ye, good mistress, subscribe this paper 
and we leave you wi’ the water stoup, to drink and to sleep till 
your heart is contented. But refuse, and woe be unto ye ! 
For here sit we doon to watch by turns, to keep ye, waking 
and sleepless, with thirst unslackened, till the hour of doom ; 
and so, my Lady Seton, ye have the option ; sign and drink, 
or refuse and sufter.” 

With one hand he held before her the large and brimming 
jar ; with the other he displayed a paper whereon something 
was written. 

Within the deep jar the water seemed cold and pure, limpid 
and refreshing ; whilst her thirst was agonizing, and her whole 
frame felt as if scorched by an internal fire. Her brain was 
whirling, a sickness was coming over her, and human endurance 
could withstand the temptation no longer. 

For a moment she reflected that it was impossible for any 
avowal, verbal or written, to make her more utterly miserable 
or degraded than her sentence had already made her, and 
aware that nothing now could change the current of her fate 
save the royal pardon, of which she had not the shadow of a 
hope, she could only articulate — 


THE king’s advocate. 


325 


“A. pen, a pen! — the water! — the water! 1 am dying- - 
dying of thirst !” 

Promptly Birrel produced a pen, which he dipped in a por- 
table inkstand. 

She took it with a trembling hand and paused. 

He temptingly poured some of the sparkling water on the 
floor. A gleam passed over her eyes, and in a moment she 
placed her name, Jane Seton, to the paper, vainly endeavour- 
ing, as she did so, to see what the lines written above her sig- 
nature contained ; but there was a mist before her eyes, and 
now they failed her. She threw away the pen with a shriek, 
and stretched out her hands towards the vessel of water. 

“ What would ye think, now, if I spilled it all on the flag- 
stones ?” said Birrel, with a grin, as he withheld the jar. 

At this cruel threat she could only clasp her hands, and gaze 
at him in silence. 

After enjoying her agony for a few moments, he handed her 
the jar, from which she drank greedily and thirstily. 

“ Hechhow !” said Birrel, with a triumphant growl, “ now ye 
drink, cummer, as I drank of the Douglasburn, at the foot of 
the Cairntable,” and, extinguishing their lamp, the three 
wretches retired, and she was left to her own terrible thoughts. 

Again and again she drank of the water, but the thrill of 
delight its coolness and freshness aftbrded her soon passed 
away ; and setting down the vessel carefully, she gazed at it, 
and then burst into a passion of tears. 

The paper she had signed, what could it mean ? 

At that moment the clock of St. Cuthbert’s church which 
stood in the hollow far down below the Castle, on the west, 
struck slowly and solemnly the hour of four, and this sound, as 
it ascended to her ear, recalled her to other thoughts. 

The morning was shining through the rusty grating of her 
window — the morning of another day. She thought bitterly 
of the paper she had signed ; and deploring her lack of strength 
and resolution, buried her face in her pillow, and gave way at 
last to a wild paroxysm of despair. 


S26 


JANE seton: or. 


% i 

. 1 

CHAPTER XLVIL : 

ji 

WriAT THE PAPER CONTAINED. 

“ Oh, misery ! 

While I was drajrged by an insidious band 
Of pyrates — savage bloodhounds — into bondage, 

But, witness, heaven witness, ye midnight hours, 

That heard my ceaseless groans, how her dear image 
Grew to my very heart !” 

The Desart Island, 1780. 

Sleepless, and with the horrible conversation of Birrel and 
Dobbie still tingling in his ears, Roland passed the night in 
that frame of mind we have endeavoured to describe, though 
it can be better conceived. 

The morning dawned, and the thick gratings of the windows 
appeared in strong relief against the satt’roii sky, and sounds of 
life arose from the waking city below. The bright sun was 
gilding the vane of St. Giles, the spire of the Dominicans, the 
square tower of St. Mary-in-the-Fields, and the lofty summits 
of the town, while, like a golden snake, the Forth was seen 
winding afar between the wooded mountains of the west. 

With arms folded, his head sunk upon his breast, and his 
hollow eyes fixed dreamily on the floor, Roland was immersed 
in a chaos of gloomy thoughts, when the noise occasioned by a 
hand raising a window opposite startled him. He looked up, 
and a letter fell at his feet. 

He clutched and tore it open. 

“ Jane ! from Jane — from my dear Jane !” he exclaimed, 
huskily, and pressed her signature to his lips. “ It is signed by 
herself (how well I know that dear signature !) but another has 
written it — St. Bernard perhaps. Ah, my God ! she is too ill 
to write, and they separate me from her. Jane — Jane !” 

Now Sir Roland Vipont, though a poor gentleman and sol- 
dier of fortune of the sixteenth century, knew enough of scho- 
.arcraft (which, like every other craft, was not held then in 
much repute) to enable him to decipher the letter of Jane Se- 
ton, or rather that letter which, by the order of Redhall, Birrel 
had compelled her to sign by the bribe alternately offered and 
withheld — a draught of cold water. 

For a time there was an envious mist before the hot dry eyes 
of Roland Vipont ; and thrice he had to pause before he so fai 


THE king’s advocate. 


327 


re^^overed his energies as to be able to read this epistle, which 
had been thus delivered to him by the hand of a friend, as he 
did not doubt. Literally, it ran as follows : 

“ Mine own sweet heart, Sir Roland, 

“Abandoned now by iny evil Mentor, and inspired by 
the blessed saints, who know aH things, uninfluenced by any 
man, and of mine own free will, I hereby confess, certify, and 
make known unto you, tliat I have indeed been guilty of the 
sorcery and witchcraft of which I am accused ; and that queen 
Magdalene died by the same magic and power of enchantment 
which forced thee to love me. Thus, the strong regard thou 
bearest me is in no way attributable to any beauty, manner, or 
apparent goodness, with which nature hath gifted me; but 
solely to my diabolical arts and sorceides. At this thou wilt be 
sorely grieved, but cannot be surprised, mine own sweet heart, 
when thou thinkest of the myriad infernal deeds that are per- 
mitted by heaven and brought about by the instigation of 
Satan, to whom I have borne more than one brood of imps. I 
saw that thou wert simple, guileless, good, and brave ; and thus 
were fitted to fall easily into my snares, where many have fallen 
before thee ; but heaven, by revealing my sins, hath saved thee 
in time. And 1 do further confess that I am a false traitor, a 
dyvour heretic and renouncer of my baptism. Written for me, 
by a learned clerk, at the Castle of Edinburgh, the l7th day 
of July, in the year of God T" V® xxxvii. 

“Jane Seton.” 

“My Jane! my Jane! oh this is hell’s own work!” ex- 
claimed the unhappy young man; who became stricken with 
terror at avowals which were so startling and so well calculated 
to make a deep impression on any man, and on any mind of 
his time, when a belief in the power of the devil was so strong. 
“ This agony, and not the love I bear thee, is the work of sor- 
cery. It is a forgery — I will never believe it ; and yet her sig- 
nature is there ! and after trial, when torture, shame, and agony 
were past, what could bring forth an avowal such as this ? Oh, 
what but remorse for deceiving one who had loved thee so 
well ! The mother of fiends ! she so good, so charitable, so 
religious, who never missed a mass, or festival. I shudder and 

laugh at the same moment ! A sorceress — Jane 

where is the Jane T loved — the good and gentle ? She confront 
the terrors of hell — the touch of Satan ^ — impossible — frenzy 


328 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


and folly : and } et, and yet, and yet my brain is turned, and 1 
feel as if a serpent had thrust its head into my heart.” 

Thus thought Roland, incoherently. 

All the implicit trust of a lover, and the blind chivalric de- 
votion of a true gentleman of the year 1637, failed to bear up 
Vipont against the chilling superstition which then oversha- 
dowed every mind and everything, and which tinges the writ- 
ings of the most subtle casuists and philosophers of those 
days ; and assuredly one could not expect much deep casuistry 
or philosophy either to be exhibited by Roland, whose school 
had been the camp, and whose playground in boyhood had 
been the corpse-strewn battle-fields of France and Italy. It 
was an age of fairy spells and magic charms, mysterious omens, 
and gliding spectres — of ten thousand deadly and now forgot- 
ten terrors ; and we must enter fully into the feelings of the 
age to appreciate or conceive the frightful effect this unsought 
for and unexpected avowal of supernatural crime produced upon 
the mind of Roland Vipont. 

His first impulse was to stigmatize the letter as the most de- 
liberate of forgeries, to rend it into a hundred fragments, and 
to scatter them from the window on the waters of the loch 
below ; but the memory of the words those fragments contained, 
and their teriible import, remained as if written with fire upon 
his soul, and wherever he turned he saw them palpably before 
dim ; thus, at times, the most cruel doubts were added to his 
former despair. 

He felt that his mental agony was rapidly becoming too 
great for endurance ; and he shrunk, as it were, back within 
himself with terror at the idea that he might become insane. 

The pride of his strong and gallant heart — a heart that had 
never quailed amid the boom of cannon and the shock of spears, 
the rush of charging squadrons and the clang of descending 
swords — was now bowed down ; and covering his face with his 
hand, he wept like a child, and with that deep and deathlike 
agony that can only be known by the strong man when forced 
to find a refuge and relief in tears. 

Redhall, that tiger heart, had calculated well and deeply. 
The sight of those tears, produced by the letter he had so cruelly 
and so subtly contrived, would have been as balm to his heart, 
and as “marrow to his bones;” for he laughed aloud when 
Nichol Birrel, by dawn of day, related, in exaggerated terms, 
the agony of Vipont, which he had neither the means of observ- 
ing or ascertaining ; for he had simply, by the assistance of a 


THE KING’S ADVOCATE. 


329 


ladder, dropped the letter into his apartment, and hurried 
away. 

“ The measure of my vengeance against this man is now almost 
full !” said he ; “ woe be to him who would lessen it ! ' To have 
destroyed her while this Vipont believed in her innocence would 
have left that vengeance but half sated. Now have I fairly rob- 
bed her of her honour and her very soul — at least, in the eyes 
of this gilded moth, who loves her, as I know, even to adora- 
tion ; but not more than I do — oh, no ! — not more than I, who 
am her destroyer, and on whose hands her blood' will lie. Oh, 
Jane !....” 

His head fell forward on his breast. 

“ But harkye, Birrel,” said he, suddenly recovering ; “ to-day 
the cardinal goes to Falkland, to seek her pardon from the 
king ; and this pardon (if granted) young Leslie of Balquhan 
is to convey straight to Sir James Kiddel, at our castle here. 
Now mark me, Nichol Birrel, and mark me well, this pardon 
must be brought to me, and to me alone. ’Tis an insult of this 
meddling cardinal to send it- to Cranstoun-Riddel, the castellan, 
while I am lord advocate. This very day, after morning mass, 
his eminence and this holiday lieutenant of the guards, set out 
for Falkland. Do thou, with Trotter and fifteen, or as many 
good horsemen as you can muster, follow, and watch well for 
Leslie’s return. Be more wary than you were in Douglasdale, 
or what avail your promises of service? Between this and 
Falkland there is many a mile of lonely muirland, where blows 
may be struck, or bones broken, and where a slain man may 
sleep undiscovered till the judgment-day — see to it ! TBis 
Leslie is in your hands, as Vipont was before. A hundred 
French crowns if thou bringest me the pardon. Stay ! — there 
is the Laird of Clatto, who hath a plea before the Lords; 
tell him, that if he wishes well to his case, a certain horses- 
man must not pass the Lomond-hill ; there are the Lindesays 
of Kirkforthar and Bandon, who are the sworn foemen of 
the House of Balquhan. I know thy skill and cunning — ride 
and rouse them ! Ride and raise all the Howe of Fife on 
the king’s messenger ; and here is my thumb on’t, Nichol 
Birrel, my three best crofts at Redhall shall be thine of a free 
gift, heritably and irredeemably to thee and thine heirs for 
ever.” 

In one hour from that time this indefatigable ruffian had 
Tam Trotter and fifteen other horsemen completely armed, with 
helmets and cuirasses, gorgets, and gloves of steel, swords, 


S30 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


lances, and petronels, awaiting liis orders (and the cardinal’s 
departure) in the stable-yard of Redhall’s lodging in the Canon- 
gate. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

THE CROSS AND GILLSTOUP. 


“ But the curtain of twilight o’ershadows the shore, 
And deepens the tint on the blue Lammerinuir j 
The tints on Corstorphine have paled in their fire, 
But sunset still lingers with gold on its spire ; 

The Roseberry forests are hooded in grey, 

And night, like his heir, treads impatient on day — 
And now, gentle, stranger, if such be thy mood. 

Go welcome the moonlight in sweet Holyrood.” 


On the night, with which our last chapters have been chiefly 
occupied, at the identical time when Father St. Bernard was 
concerting with the cardinal, anent procuring a pardon for Lady 
Jane, two other kind friends were elsewhere concerting the 
escape of her lover — but planning it like soldiers, by escalade 
and at point of the sword. 

In the course of the present history we have, more than once, 
referred to a certain flourishing tavern, named The Crons and 
Gillstoup. which in those days displayed its sign-board to the 
public eye on the south side of the then somewhat suburban 
street, the Canongate. 

Though the host of this establishment was vitally interested 
in the freedom of the master of king James’s ordnance, in sc 
far that he owed him the sum of thirty crowns for wine, it was 
not deemed advisable to take him into the conspiracy. In a 
little chamber of this tavern, vaulted, like all the flrst stories in 
old Edinburgh, having a sanded floor, a plain wooden table, 
and fir chairs of capacious dimensions, a little figure of the Ma- 
donna in a corner, beneath which was a begging-box, belong- 
ing to the Franciscans, inscribed, “ Help y® puir, as ye wald 
God dit you,” sat Sir John Forrester, captain of the king’s 
arquebusiers, and Leslie of Balquhan, his lieutenant; though 
was past the hour of nine, when, by the laws of James I., no man 
was to be found in a tavern after that hour rang from the burgh 
bell, under a penalty of warding in the Tolbooth, or paying “ the 
king’s cfiamberlayne fiftie schillinges.” 

Being genilemen, and moreover officers of the guard, these 


THE king’s advocate. 


331 


two cavaliers considered themselves above such vulgar rule^ 
and were quietly sitting down to supper. Their bonnets and 
mantles, their unbuckled swords and daggers, lay on a side 
bench ; each had a knife and platter of delft ware, with a silver- 
rimmed drinking-horn, before him ; and between them stood a 
savoury powt pie, with a great pewter jug of wine, the said 
pewter jug being polished to the brightness of a mirror; and 
Leslie used it as such, to point up his moustachioes ; for the 
hostess of The Cross and (xillstoup prided herself particularly 
, on the brightness of her pots and kettles — and then, be it re 
I ^' membered, pewter was a luxury. 

Seated at another table in the background, but helped libe- 
rally from the before mentioned powt pie and the gallant pewter 
jug, old Lintstock, the ex-cannonier, with his steel cap and Jed- 
wood axe laid beside him, his white hair glistening in the light 
of three long candles, and his eye looking very tierce and red, 
was eating his supper with a stern and disconsolate, but never- 
theless very determined aspect ; for he had thoroughly resolved 
on doing something desperate, though he had not exactly made 
up his mind as to what that desperate thing should be. Ever 
since his mastei’s arrest, the forlorn old soldier had been pro 
tected by Sir John Forrester, who remarked, as they proceeded 
to supper — 

“ A whole day has passed, and yet, Leslie, we have resolved 
on nothing ; and now our resolutions must needs be sharp and 
sure, for high and over-strained in their newfangled notions ol 
civil authority, the abbot Myliie and Redhall will come swoop 
down like a pair of ravenous hawks on poor Vipont, for his 
escapade on that devilish day of Lady Jane’s trial.” 

“ 1 am aware of that.” 

“ Then why did you not come sooner ?” 

“ Sooner ? Why, Sir John, I have never had time to cioss 
myself to-day.” 

“ Busy — thou ?” 

“ Oh, I had a score of matters to attend to. First, I had to 
buy me a pot of rouge at the Tron for Madame de Montreuil, 
who complains that her complexion hath gone since the late 
queen’s death ; then I had to escort the Countess of Glencairn 
and little Mademoiselle de Brissac, who must needs go on a 
oilgrimage to the chapel of St. James ; then I had to get a pint 
of wine at Leith to refresh me ; then I had to write a song for 
Marion Logan, and to ride to John of the Silvermills, anenl 
Borne matters for bonny Alison Hume.” 


332 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


“ I knew not that she was ailing.” 

“Nay, ’twas only to get some almond paste for her dainty 
hands, and oil of roses for her hair.” 

“ Plague on thee and them ! Canst think of such cursed 
trifles when our best friends are in such deadly peril ?” 

“Now really, Corstorphine,” said Leslie, as he spread the 
white linen serviette over his red satin trunk breeches ; “ is the 
whole world to stand still because Roland Vipont is laid by the 
heels ? Or dost thou think that the king will bring to death, 
or even to trial, so brave a fellow as our captain of his ordnance ?” 

“ The devil ! thou talkest as if brave fellows were scarce in 
Scotland. But the Lady Seton, her chances of life ” 

“ Are small indeed ; but let us only have our Vipont free of 
Cranstoun-Riddel, on horseback beside us, with his helmet on, 
and his sword drawn, and we shall carry the lady off in face of 
all Edinburgh ! What care we for the burgher guard, or the 
lances of the provost !” 

“ The king ” 

“ Will love a deed so bold, and so much after his own heart.” 

“ If we were to fail ?” 

“ ’Tis but dying like bold fellows in our corslets.” 

“ Thy hand, my brave Leslie, for thou art an honour to thy 
name,” replied Sir John Forrester, with admiration. 

“ Poor Marion Logan has quite spoiled her fine eyes by cry- 
ing for three days and nights consecutively about her iriend.” 

Here something between a sob and a growl proceeded from 
the corner where Lintstock was gulping down his supper and 
his sorrows together. 

“ Why, Lintstock, my old Cyclops,” said Leslie, “ thou art 
looking grave as a German lanzknecht. Tut ! cheer up ; thy 
master will soon be out of David’s Tower ; and then, let Sir 
Adam of Redhall look to himself.” 

“ Aye, Balquhan, but let him look well to himself before that 
cometh to pass !” 

“ How, old Tartar ! wouldst thou give the king’s advocate a 
sliver with thine axe ?” 

“ I will hew him to the brisket for having dared to look at 
my master’s leraane ! By St. John ! if any man dared to look 
aboon his rosettes, when passing my master’s next lady-love at 
kirk, or market ” 

“ Oho !” said Sir John Forrester, hastily ; “ thou seemest better 
acquainted with this matter than most of us. But be wary 
carle, thy head may run under a noose. Some more pie 1” 


THE king’s advocate. 


333 


“ If it please ye, sir.” 

“ If it pleases thee rather. Eat well, my old cormorant ; foi 
it hath been a fast with thee since thy master’s arrest. Now, 
Leslie, to return to what we were talking of. I know of no 
other means of procuring admittance to Vipont’s prison but in 
disguise. If Father St. Bernard would lend me his cas- 
sock 

“Thou art too tall by eight inches. I know my Lady 
Cranstoun-Riddel’s little tire-woman,” said Leslie, winking, and 
clanking his gold spurs. 

“ r faith ! a nice little dame, with black eyes and pretty teeth.” 

“ But a saucy darnstocking, spoiled at court by the pages and 
archers.” 

“ Through her something might be achieved though.” 

“ Is she particular ?” 

“ Not at all ! If she would only conceal . me in her room for 
one night ” 

“ Once thwe, rogue, thou wouldst forget all about poor Vipont, 
thy mission!, and the coil of stout rope wherewith thou proposes! 
to line thy trunk breeches.” 

Here the noise of a window being raised behind him made 
Leslie turn his head. 

“What is that? Mother of God! what is that?" he ex- 
claimed, in alarm, with his sword half drawn, on seeing a 
black visage, with shining eyeballs, a row of sharp white teeth, 
and two black paws, appear between the lifted sash and the 
window-sill. 

Forrester started, and Lintstock snatched up his axe. 

The head grinned and bowed, and waved its black paws 
with a grotesque air of respect and deprecation. 

“ By my soul ! ’tis Lady Ashkirk’s ill-omened page 1” said 
the captain, bursting into a fit of laughter. 

“ How — the evil spirit, anent which we have heard so much 
of late ?” 

“ Nay, no evil spirit, but a poor denizen of those countries 
*' which lie beneath the sun. Sir Robert Barton, the admiral, 
swears that they are half men and half marmosets ; but Father 
St. Bernard told me they were the descendants of Cain. 1 
am not afraid of it — nay, not I,” said the tall knight of Cor- 
storphine, as he drew on his military gloves, and — but not with- 
out some repugnance — seized the hands of Sabrino, and drew 
him into the room. 

The poor black boy, whose aspect was now deplorable, felJ 


334 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


on his knees, and poured forth his thanks in frightful mutter- 
mgs, that seemed to come from the bottom ot his throat, and 
lolled out the fragment of his tongue in a way that produced a 
striking eftect on old Lintstock, and, to say the least of it, was 
very unearthly. The old cannonier clenched his axe in one 
hand, his wine-pot in the other, and recoiled as from a snake. 

“ Lintstock,” said Forrester, “ thou hast seen this creature 
before ; dost understand its gibberish ?” 

“ It is thanking you, as I think, sir ; but it looks gey wolfish- 
like at the last of the powt pie.” 

“ Right, Lintstock,” said Leslie, placing the dish before 
Sabrino. The famished negro gave him a glance of intense 
thankfulness, and straightway plunged his black fingers into 
the pie, of which he ate voraciously. 

After the night of the earl’s adventure on the island, of the 
countess’s baffled flight, the duel with Sir James Hamilton, and 
of Ashkirk’s disappearance with Sybil in the boat, Sabrino, 
who had escaped all the arquebus shots by ducking in the 
water, and clinging to the weed-covered rocks, next day found 
himself under dangerous circumstances, for the cavern which 
had formed his hiding-place being now discovered and searc.hed, 
he had no longer any place of concealment; thus hunger and 
the danger of death made him resolve to put in practice a plan 
he had frequently conceived, but had not yet dared to execute. 

At certain periods, a large boat came regularly from Leirh in 
the morning with provisions for the garrison, and generally 
returned in the evening. An opportunity soon occurred, and 
Sabrino, diving under the counter of this barge at the very 
moment it left the creek of the Inch, lashed himself (with a 
fragment of rope) to the iron pintles which fastened the rudder 
to the sternpost. In the summer atmosphere of a warm July, 
the water of the majestic Forth was calm and warm, and itie 
motion was pleasant and easy as the oarsmen shot their light- 
ened boat across its broad and glassy surface, on which the set- 
ting sun was shining. Though half choked at times by ihe 
salt spray that flew from the oars, beneath the counter, where 
he hung, Sabrino, with unflinching resolution, endured the dan 
ger of being towed for three miles, and was glad to find that 
the dusk had fairly set in before the boat was moored to the 
old wooden pier which then terminated the ancient harbour 
under the rampart of the round tower. 

Poor Sabrino knew that all the white men feared and hated 
him ; but he knew not that he was regarded as little less than 


THE king’s advocate. 


33i 


tlie devil himself — for such he had been considered and declared 
to be by the wise and learned of the college of justice. Avoid- 
ing every person, he had the sense to thread his way into the 
city by some secret passage, and went straight to the mansion 
ot the Ashkirk family. It was silent and deserted, for the spi- 
ders were already spinning their cobwebs on the lock of its 
iron gate. Failing also to find Sir Roland Vipont, and fearing 
to encounter others, the unhappy mute had instinctively sought 
the tavern, where in palmier and more privileged days he had 
so frequently brought him messages from his mistress. 

Sabrino knew well the approaches to the place, and entering 
the Horse Wynd, cleared at a bound the wall of the kail-yard ; 
and reaching the window of the old familiar room, obtained 
ingress, — not from Roland Vipont, as he had expected, but by 
the assistance of Sir John Forrester, as we have just related. 

“ Drink,” said that frank and stately soldier, handing to the 
wet, weary, and famished being a cup of wine, when he had 
eaten to his satisfaction ; “ but now, what in the fiend’s name 

shall we do with thee ? I would not for all my mains and 

mills at Corstorphine thou wert found by Redhall living under 
my protection ; and yet ’twere a foul shame to drive thee forth, 
the more so as all men’s hands and voices are against thee.” 

Sabrino understood Sir John, and hung his head sorrowfully. 

“ Nay, poor devil !” he added, kindly, “ thou shalt byde with 
me, and I bite my glove at all who dare say nay.” 

“ Could we not paint him, or dye him, or scrub him well 

with hot water, so that in colour, at least, he might be like 

other men ?” 

“ We shall see,” replied the captain of the arquebuses; “1 
will talk with my old confessor about it — he knows everything. 
But it hath such capacious eyes, and such a nose !” 

“ By Jove ! its face is like a Highland buckler !” added the 
other, and they paused to regard Sabrino with all the curiosity 
a new species of animal would have excited. 

Sir John Forrester,” said Lintstock, “ I ken weel that this 
creature can clamber like a squirrel ; and gif we show him the 
tower wherein my puir maister girns and granes for his luve 
and his liberty, 1 warrant he’ll sune rax to the window. Put a 
saw between his teeth, a coil o’ stout rope on his back, and 1 
warrant me, we shall hae Sir Roland Vipont beside us in three 
hours after.” 

Thou art right, Lintstock,” said Leslie, while Sabrino, on 
nearing himself referred to, lopked li^edly af the one-eyed 


336 


JANE 8ET0N ! OR, 


gunner; “this creature’s black hide hath brought thy brav# 
master and his fair mistress into sore trouble, and I know of 
none who ought to exert his energies more than he in their 
service. It is agreed ; we shall show him the rock, the tower, 
the window, and that by daybreak to-morrow.” 

Sabrino understood them perfectly, while he gazed at them 
with the painful and speechless anxiety which his face depicted 
at times so powerfully ; and, anxious to express his gratitude, 
his eyes shone, while he grinned and nodded, and saying — 
“ Ees — ess — ess !” laid his hands repeatedly on his breast, and 
placed the hand of Sir John Forrester on his woolly head, in 
token that he was their liege and true man. 

At that moment a loud knock was heard at the aoor. 

“ Under the table, Sabrino — hide, hide,” said Leslie ; “ I 
would not for my helmet full of gold pieces, thou wert seen 
with us — quick !” 

Sabrino dived below the table, and again the knock was heard. 

“ Wlm is there without? — come in,” said Sir John. 

Carrying in his hand his bonnet, which was adorned by a 
long white feather, a graceful young man, attired in the most 
gorgeous and extreme of the fashion of that age, a doublet of 
peach-coloured velvet, sown with seed pearls, and stifi' with 
silver lace, a Genoese mantle of blue velvet, and trunks and 
hose of the palest yellow satin, appeared. 

“ My Lord David Lindesay !” said the two officers of the 
guard, as they started from their seats. 

“ A message from the cardinal,” said the young lord, who 
was soon to become the primate’s son-in-law. “ His eminence 
'• sets out to-morrow for Falkland Palace to visit the king, and 
begs the favour of some twenty arquebusiers, under your 
guidance, Laird of Balquhan, as the roads are neither safe nor 
sure at this time.” 

Leslie looked at his captain. 

“ Half the guard are at Falkland already, under the other 
lieutenant, the Laird of Bute,” replied Forrester ; “ but my 
friend Balquhan will be at the disposal of his eminence to- 
morrow with twenty arquebusiers. At what time do you mount 
and ride ?” 

“ After morning prayer,” said the young lord; “you know 
how unsafe the country is around Falkland — for his eminence 
at least.” 

“ True ; the Kirkaldies of Grange, the Melvilles of Raitb, and 
the Seatons of Clatto, are no friends of his.” 


THE king’s advocate. 


337 


After a few more words of course, and tasting their wine, 
the heir of the princely line of Crawford bowed and retired. 

“ A hundred devils !” said Leslie, as he buckled on his sword. 
“ This duty will prevent me assistincr in the escape of our poor 
Vipont.” 

“ It matters not, my true Leslie, for I alone will see to that. 
But how, a-God’s name, am I to a’ot our sable friend conveyed 
I. to my quarters in the palace ? If our fat host of the Cross and 
Gillstoup should see him, all will be over with him.” 

After some consideration to preclude his being seen, and 
avoid the dangerous surmises consequent thereto, it was arranged 
that Sabrino should retire in the same manner as he had 
entered — by the window, which he immediately did. 

Thereafter, having met the captain and lieutenant of the 
guard at the low wall which then bordered the west side of the 
Horse Wynd at the foot of the Canongate, Leslie muffled him 
up to the eyes in his velvet mantle, and he was taken past the 
1 guards, pages, &c., into the inmost court of the palace, where 
Forrester (concealed him in an apartment, the key of which he 
hung at his waist belt. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


THE CASTAWAYS. 


“’Tis very certain the desire of life 

Prulong^s it : this is ul)vious to physicians, 

When patients, neither plagued with friends nor wife. 
Survive through very desperate conditions, 

Because they still can hope, nor shines the knife, 

Nor shears of Atropos before their vjsians: 

Despair of all recovery spoils longevity, 

And makes men’s miseries of alarming brevity.” 

Byron. 


We have related how the Earl of Ashkirk, as the only mean 
of avoiding death or recapture, had spread the lug-sail of hi < 
boat to the western breeze, and was borne down the Firth -.d 
Forth. 

The gale was freshening, and it blew the white foam from 
the waves, as they rose and fell, and rose again in rapid suc- 
cession, as if to meet the sharp prow of the boat, which shot 
22 


838 


JANE skton; or, 


through them like an arrow through a wreatli of smoke. The 
boat of tlie Inch was left behind ; for unwilling to run the risk 
of being carried out to sea, its crew gave up the pursuit in de- 
spair. The Earl laughed in triumph, and to his breast tolded 
Sybil, who was trembling with terror at the world of water 
that whirled around them. 

Dim and distant, the hills of Fife and Lothian seemed soon 
to be afar off ; the isle the fugitives had left seemed also sinking 
fast, and little trace of the shore remained, after the moon sank 
behind the peaks of Stirlingshire. The earl now attempted to 
turn shoreward ; but in a moment found the impossibility of 
making the least headway against the strong and increasing 
wind, the ebbing tide and the fierce current of the mighty 
Firth, which had there expanded to an ocean. 

“ The shore — the shore now. Oh, good, my dear earl, turn 
towards the shore !” implored Sybil, in great terror, as she i^lung 
to her companion. 

“ It is impossible ! Against such a wind as this, 1 «POuld 
merely have our boat upset, and this, dearest Sybil, wvaid not 
be very pleasant.” 

“Mercy! we shall be swept out into the homeless cean i” 
she continued, with increasing fear, as the boat rose s <ddenly 
up, or surged as swiftly down into a deep, dark, ana watery 
hollow, while the heaving of the waves increased ev'>ry mo- 
ment. 

“ Nay, now, Sybil afraid 1 — thou a Douglas of Kilspuidie ? I 
will never believe it. Let us bear right on towards th^ bonny 
Bay of Aberlady, which will soon receive us, and lo 1 we shall 
find ourselves just under your father’s castle of Kilspinoie.” 

“ Better are we here,” replied Sybil with a kindling eye : 
“ know you not, that like Tantallon, it is garrisoned by a party 
of Hamiltons?” 

“Now, God’s malison be on this tribe, for they have come 
out of their native Clydesdale to spread even as locusts over all 
the Lowlands.” 

“ But there is many a crofter at Kilspindie, and many a stout 
fisherman at Aberlady, who will shelter us for the love they 
bear our grandsire Sir Archibald Douglas, and for the sake of 
the old race. They are all leal men and true to the Douglas 
name.” 

“ I have suflBciently perforated one Hamilton to-night, and 
have no wish to come to handyblows with another, especially 
while having thee, my little lady, to protect.” 


THE king’s advocate. 


339 


“ And dost thou think, cousin Archibald, that I can neither 
fii'e a petronel, nor unwind a pistolette, as my aunt, your mother, 
doth ?” 

“ Nay, Sybil, thou wouldst surely shut fast those black eyes 
ot thine, when the wheel whirled and the sulphuret sprung ; 
for thou hast seen less of blood and blows, of men unhorsed and 
armour riven, than the countess, my mother ; for thou never 
sawest the Douglas banner in its glory, in the days of James 
IV., as she tells us many a time and oft. Why, bethink thee, 
Sybil, two hundred gentlemen, Douglasses, all dubbed knights 
of name, and wearing spurs of gold, were founds slain on 
Flodden field — that fatal field where bold king James, with ten 
thousand of the Scottisli noblesse, fought till going down of the 
sun, against six-and-twenty thousand Englishmen.” 

The earl spoke of these and other things to draw Sybils 
attention from their present danger ; but the wind was still in- 
creasing, and he had thrice lessened the sail since leaving Inch- 
keith ; the moon was gone, the waves were becoming gloomy, 
and though Sybil was too much accustomed to boating to be 
sick, she trembled at the increasing tumult of the Firth, and 
shuddered in the cold night wind that blew over it, for the 
plaid in which the earl enveloped her failed as a protection 
against the chill ocean atmosphere. This plaid — a plain border 
maud of black and white cheque, he had long worn as the best 
of disguises, for it was a warm and ample, though a coarse and 
humble garment. 

For a full hour the boat beat fruitlessly against the wind, 
which now blew off the land, and again the earl was forced to 
run her before it, to avoid being swamped by the fierce and 
foam-headed waves, that careered ahead and astern of her ; and 
now the dark, shadowy outline of Gulane Hill came out of the 
dusky vapour that rested on the face of the water to the east. 
Aware that the little sandy Bay of Aberlady lay below it, he 
trimmed the lessened sail and grasped the tiller, in the hope ot 
beaching the boat upon its level shore ; but, lo ! the envious 
wind veered suddenly a few points more to the south, and 
blew directly oft' the coast, and with such sudden fury, that the 
boat was nearly overset. 

Instantly securing the tiller by a rope, the earl rushed to tne 
lug-sail to take in its last reef, and fearing to be dashed on the 
rocks that fringe the coast, he was now compelled to pass the 
wished for haven, and lie still further oflf, with his prow turned 
towards the pathless waste of the 'German Sea. Then, but 


840 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


only when he thought of Sybil and what she was suffering 
from cold and terror, did his brave heart sink with apprehension. 
Muffled completely in the plaid, she endeavoured to shut out 
the sight of the black tumbling waves and their foam-decked 
summits, the sound of the moaning wind and the creaking of 
the labouring boat, but every instant the noise increased, and 
every shower of spray that blew over her was heavier than the 
last. She prayed with fervour; and the impetuous earl, who 
was rather iiKtlined to swear, both at the sea and wind, more 
than once, amid the wild discord of the waves, heard her small 
soft voice raised in prayer to God, and to St. Bryde of Doug- 
las, the patron of her race, the virgin of Kil-dara. 

The castle of Kilspindie, with its great square tower and 
sandy shore, the beautiful Bay of Aberlady, with its sheltered 
village, were now astern ; and nothing was seen but the bluff 
headland of Gulane-ness, with the white foam rising like smoke 
against its tremendous front of rocks. 

Wan gleams of uncertain light shot over the desolate estu- 
ary ; the whole prospect was dreary and alarming. Strong, 
active, and determined. Lord Ashkirk might have reached the 
shore by swimming, but Sybil 

He struck his sail almost in despair, and now bent all his un- 
wearying energy to bale out his little craft; for she was filling 
fast, and he fully expected to be swamped by every mountain- 
like wave, that with its monstrous head curling aloft, and snowy 
with foam — a foam rendered yet more terrible by the gloom 
and obscurity around it — rolled on towards the rocks of Gulane- 
ness, drenching the labouring skiff in its passage, and threat- 
ening to engulf it in an abyss for ever. 

He was without fear for himself ; but when he beheld Sybil 
crouching down beside him, his heart filled with anxiety and 
dread, with suspense and remorse ; and he reflected that were 
the catastrophe, which he dreaded and expected every moment, 
to happen — he thrust away the thought as too horrible to 
contemplate, and baled on with renewed energy, pausing only 
to kiss the upturned brow of Sybil, or press her trembling 
hands. They were becoming very cold. 

A thousand thoughts of home and friends, of love and life, 
came vividly on her mind ; and Sybil reflected that she was 
happy even on yonder closely guarded island, when she con- 
trasted the security and hope it aflbrded with the danger and 
hopelessness of their present predicament. 

Day began to dawn in the east, and with joy poor Sybil 


THE KINGS ADVOCATE. 


34j 


hailed it ; for though helpless and feeble, she had seen ano 
admired the unwearying energy of her lover, in keeping the 
boat alive in such a frightful sea. His exertions were almost 
superhuman, for her existence depended upon them. 

They were now past that tremendous promontory. 

Uninfluenced by its bold abutment, the waves were more 
smooth ; and again the earl spread his sail, and made another 
vain att ot to gain the southern shore. 

A sickly yellow glow spread over the east, as the sun arose 
from the ocean enveloped in watery clouds ; the wind had not 
yet spent its fury ; the whole aspect of the sky and water was 
dark and dreary. The summit of the land was veiled in mist ; 
its shore was fringed with rocks, on which the surf was beating ; 
and from these rocks the wind blew fierce and strong. No 
vessel was in sight ; and not a living thing was visible but the 
startled seamews and kitty- wakes, the gannets and cormorants, 
that were whirled past them, screaming on the wind, which 
often dashed them into the bosom of the upheaved water. 

“ Now, Heaven by thy protection, my Sybil !” exclaimed 
the earl, as he sank exhausted beside her, “for I can do no 
more.” 

Worn out by toil, and exhausted also by loss of blood from 
a flesh wound received from the sword of Barncleugh, and still 
more overcome by his frantic and unaided exertions during so 
many hours to trim the boat and keep her floating, he now 
found himself conquered, and completely overcome. He was 
pale as death, his hands trembled, his eyes were bloodshot, and 
the blood that trickled from his nostrils declared painfully how 
far he had overtasked his strength. 

. , “ God protect thee, Sybil !” lie repeated, as he pressed his 
•trembling lips to her brow ; “ God protect thee, for all my poor 
strength has failed me now.” 

He burst into tears, from excess of weakness ; but this was 
the emotion of a moment only ; he smiled f idly, and encircling 
Sybil with his arms, endeavoured to warm her. 

Again he gathered courage, and setting a few feet of sail, 
grasped the tiller, and strove fruitlessly to keep the boat to the 
wind ; but filling fast with every wave, she laboured heavily ; 
and now the tumult of the water increased ; for right ahead 
rose Ibris, Fidra, the Lamb, and Craigleith, four little rugged 
isles that lie at the very mouth of the Firth. On Fidra stood 
a little chapel, and amid its ruins f which are yet visible) a 
mvriad of gulls and gannets build their nests, and thick as 


842 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


oT.ats in Jie sunshine the sea birds were flying around its rocks 
on the stormy wind. 

These tour isles are but enormous masses of basalt ; and 
against them the Firth and ocean poured their adverse tides in 
ridges of foam ; then seeing the utter futility of attempting, in 
such a gale, to weather them, the earl let slip his sail, and with 
a crack like the report of a musket, the braces flew through the 
blocks, and the nut-brown canvas vanished into the ' . 

He now resigned the boat to its fate, and expected every 
moment to see it dashed upon the isle of Ibris, or swept 
through the. little channel that lay between it and the shore, 
and through which a strong current was running. 

By a miracle they passed these isles, and were swept to the 
seaward. 

“ A ship ! a ship ! dear Archibald — look, my lord — a ship !” 
exclaimed Sybil, as, with an expression of the most extravagant 
joy, she threw her arm towards it — “ a rescue from the jaws of 
death !” 

Eagerly the earl raised his drooping head ; and lo ! a stately 
nierchant ship, with her large foresail set, but her topsails and 
square spritsail close reefed, was standing northward across 
the Firth from the harbour of North Berwick. Ashkirk waved 
his grey plaid, and in a few minutes, by the altered course of 
the vessel, it was evident they had been observed by the mari- 
nei*s, who were seen crowding the high forecastle, the still 
higher poop, and low waist, which was profusely covered with 
religious emblems, and she had a large blue Scottish cross 
painted in the centre of each of her sails. 

“ If it should be a ship of the king — one of Barton’s fleet !” 
muttered the earl ; who, before her appearance, had been enter- 
taining visions of founding a Chapel to St. Bryde of Douglas, 
on the bleak rocks of Fidra, if they escaped from their present 
perils. 

On came the ship, looming largely, with the water plashing 
under her gilded bows, which rose and fell on the heaving 
water. 

Manned by eight stout mariners, a boat shot off towards the 
castaways, and in a short time the half-lifeless Sybil and the 
earl scarcely less exhausted were conveyed on board the strange 
ship, which proved to be the Saint Adrian, a large vessel 
belonging to the monks of the May, who in those days pos- 
sessed many trading barks, and trafficked largely with the 
Hans Towns, Flanders, and the Baltic. Once safely on board, 


THE king’s advocate. 




the necessity of caution prevailed over the earl’s piety, ana 
concealing the rank of Sybil and himself under feigned names, 
he merely stated that they had been accidentally blown otf th« 
coast. 

A run of a few hours brought the ship to the Isle of May, 
whose clitfs of dark green rock, with the seafowl floating in 
clouds above them, rise precipitously on the east, and descend 
to foam-beaten reefs on the west. 

On this verdant island stood a chapel dedicated to St. 
Adrian, who had been murdered there in his hermitage, by the 
pagan Danes, in the year 870 ; near it stood a priory belonging 
to St. Mary of Pittenween, the monks of which received the 
rescued fugitives with every hospitality'; and there necessity 
compelled them to reside for several weeks ; for in that remote 
place there was seldom any intercourse with the main land. 

Of all that was passing in the capital Sybil and her lover 
were happily ignorant. 

Communication between places was slow in those days, and 
continued to be so for many a generation after. Even a 
hundred and fifty years later, the abdication of James VII, 
from the British throne, was not known in some parts of Scot- 
land until four months after the usurper had installed himself 
in his Palace of St. James. 


CHAPTER L. 

FALKLAND. * 

“ Where Ceres gilds the fertile plain, 

And richly waves the yellow grain ; 

And Lomond hill wi’ misty showers 
Aft weets auld Falkland’s royal towers.” 

Richard Gall 

At the foot of the beautiful Lomond hills, lie the town and 
palace of Falkland — a palace now, alas ! like Scotland’s 
ancient royalty, among the things that were. 

Many old trees in the neighbourhood, the remnant of the 
ancient royal forest of Falkland, still impart to the fragment of 
the palace an air both melancholy and venerable ; for it is but 
a fragment that survives, and makes one think with sorrow and 


n44 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


anger of that remorseless system of absorption which is laying 
Scotland bare, and, year by year, sweeps southward some por- 
tion of her money and vitality. A day is coming, perhaps, 
when Holyrood, the last and least beautiful of our Scottish 
palaces, may be abandoned like the rest, if not to some ignoble 
jmrpose, at least to ruin and decay. The tine old pile of Falk- 
land was successively engrafted on the ancient tower of the 
Thanes of Fife, by the third, fourth, and tifth James’s, until it 
formed a quadrangle, one side of which alone survives the 
decay consequent to its desertion, and the neglect with which 
every feature of Scotland’s ancient state is treated by the par- 
tial and (po far as she is concerned) penurious government to 
which she yiftrly hands over the six millions of lier revenue. 

Lying under the northern brow of a mountain, and so 
situated as to be concealed from the sun during a considerable 
portion of the winter, Falkland is a quaint-looking place, re- 
moved from any great thoroughfare, and still inhabited by a 
primitive race of weavers, who have, generation after genera- 
tion, followed the same trade as their fathers. Their dwellings 
are thatched ; each cottar has his kailyard ; and, with much 
of our old Scottish simplicity and contentment, they jog 
through life as their “ forbears” did before them ; and it is no 
uncommon thing to hear the older burghers quoting the learned 
sayings, and relating the quaint doings of his Majesty James 
VI., as if he still kept court amongst them. 

Lying at the foot of the steep eastern Lomond, with its 
vanes and carved pinnacles overtopping the foliage of its old 
green copsewood, the ruined palace of Falkland, when seen 
from a little distance, resembles an ancient Scoto-French cha- 
teau, and the white smoke of its burghtown (now diminished 
to a village), as it curls from the green foliage that fringes the 
glen, makes rustic and beautiful this solitary place, which was 
the scene of many a sorrow and many a joy to the illustriou? 
line of our ancient kings. 

The blending of the solid Falladian with the lightness of 
Gothic architecture, imparts to the fragment of the palace now 
remaining a singularly pleasing effect. On each floor of the 
most ancient portion there are six windows, divided by stone 
mullions, beautifully moulded, and between them are buttresses 
formed by foliaged columns and Tuscan entablatures, which 
support inverted trusses covered with the most elaborate 
carving. Designed by the same unfortunate architect who 
planned the Tower of James V. at Holyrood, the western front 


THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


34t 


is in tlio castellated style, and exhibits two finely proportionea 
round towers, between which is the lofty archway forming the 
entrance to what was once the grand quadrangle. In former 
times, this arch was closed at night by strong gates, and was 
defended by loopholes in the towers which flank it. Medal- 
lions in exquisite relief, the frequent initials, crests, and arms 
of James V. and Mary of Guise and Lorraine, the gallant 
thistle with its imperial crown, deep panels with many a coat 
armorial, grotesque waterspouts and gothic pinnacdes, with 
many an elaborate niche and beautiful statue, all combine to 
show that Falkland, if not the largest, was one of the most 
beautiful of Scotland’s ancient palaces. 

The gay cardinal had tarried on his way from Edinburgh, 
having made a little detour round the Moss of Kirkforthar to 
visit a certain fair dame, who is still known in Fifeshire tradition 
as the Lady Vane ; thus it was the forenoon of the 24th July, 
before he approached Falkland ; and on the next night Jane 
Seton was — to die. 

Matters of state, rather than her safety, had drawn the car- 
dinal to Falkland. An ambassador was coming from Enghmd, 
and against that ambassador he had resolved to bias the mind 
of James V. 

Despite his ecclesiastical severity, and despite all that has 
been urged against the character of this determined prelate— our 
^ Scottish Wolsey — we must assert fearlessly, that he was as true 
a Scotsman as ever breathed : and t/iai should go far to redeem 
his errors in the present day, when Scottish spirit and Scottish 
patriotism are somewhat scarce commodities. Beaton was the 
sternest, the most active and distinguished ecclesiastic of his 
time. The Protestant faith recoiled before him, and its defender 
“ by the grace of God,” Henry VIII. of England, laid fruitlessly 
many plots for his death by assassination ; but Beaton’s master 
mind circumvented them all. He was too sagacious, and per 
haps too worldly, to be superstitious, even at that time ; and 
whatever may have been his errors and his failings (and these, 
God wot, were not few), his steady maintenance of our Scottish 
honour and independence, should ensure him some little credit, 
even in the present age. It cannot be denied that he viewed 
the tenets of the Calvinists with contempt, for he considered 
them as the natural enemies of Scotland, of her church, and of 
himself; hence his indomitable attachment to that church which 
he considered the only true path to heaven, and whose tenets h« 
Li upheld by death and fire, and sealed by his own blood. 


546 


JANE setjn; or, 


Cardinal Bea on had a grave, firm, warm, and confident 
mode of expression, which was never used without producing a 
due effect on the frank and manly James V., who admired his 
lofty spirit, his keen perception in the field and cabinet, the vast- 
ness and profundity of his political projects ; his staunch main- 
tenance of the national dignity against English aggression, his 
avowed hostility to Henry VIIL, which, with his bold and 
reflective character, together with his merciless persecution of 
all schismatics, combined to make him the first man in Scotland, 
and the most formidable prince of the church in Europe. 

The summit of the steep and lofty Easter Lomond, which 
rises abruptly up from Falkland, was veiled in mist, but below 
the sunbeams glanced along its sides of dark brown heath, as 
the cardinal’s train rode through the stately park of the palace. 
It was a glorious summer day ; that morning a shower had 
fallep, and everything looked fresh and beautiful ; the Rose-loch, 
with its flowery islets, where the snowy swan and dusky ouzel 
built their nests among the water-lilies, was glittering with 
light ; and the old woods of Falkland and Diumdreel rustled 
their heavy foliage in the gentle wind. 

James V. sat in the recess of a mullioned window and gazed 
listlessly at the summer landscape, which included the whole 
strath of Eden, the fertile and magnificent Howe of Fife, from 
Cupar to Strathraiglo, spread before him, bright with verdure 
and glittering with sunlight; but James was caressing a little 
dog that had belonged to his Magdalene. A ribbon encircled 
its neck ; and, though worn and faded, he would not permit it 
to be removed, “for,” as he said, “her dear pretty hands had 
tied it there.” Again and again James looked sadly at the rib- 
bon, and thus he saw neither the vast landscape nor the cardi- 
nal’s glittering train, which (headed by Leslie of Balquhan) 
swept round the palace on the soft sward, and entered the 
quadrangle. 

James was in deep mourning for the queen. His doublet, 
trunk breeches, hose, and rosettes were of black satin, lightly 
laced. His mantle was of black velvet, with a cross of white 
silk sown thereon. All the ornaments of the apartment had 
been removed, save a large crucifix, which stood on the ebony 
table, and a portrait of his grandfather James HI., whose golden 
locks made him the original of “the yellow-haired laddie,” 
a song and air composed for him by his favourite musician 
Rodgers. The walls were covered with rich French tapestry, 
exhibiting landscapes embroidered with green and gold. The 


THE kino’s advocate. 


347 


furniture was all of the darkest walnut wood, elaborately carved 
in the fashion of James HI., and inlaid with mosaics from Flo- 
rence — the thistle and the tleur-de-lis studdeci with their golden 
leaves the oak beams and deep panels of the ceiling. 

Moulded, and cusped with stone, the gothic windows were 
filled with lozenged panes in leaden frames, stained with arms 
and devices; and the curtains which shaded them were of 
V^enetiaii brocade. 

Absorbed in his grief, the king for some time past had aban 
doned all his favourite amusements — horses, hounds, hawks, 
music, and masquerading, had all been forgotten ; for the live- 
long day he sat alone and brooded over the memory of Magdalene 
of France. This lethargy communicated itself to the court. 
The dogs lay sleeping in the yard ; the hooded hawks winked 
and nodded on their perches ; the royal standard hung still and 
unwaven on the gateway ; the swans seemed to sleep on the 
loch ; and the arquebusier at the archway leaned on the boll of 
his weapon, and dozed, while the pages, who had been playing 
with quoits in the park, slept on the sunny benches before the 
gate. 

The approaching train electrified the inhabitants of the palace. 

“ The cardinal himself, or may the devil take me !” cried lit- 
tle Lord Claud Hamilton, the king’s favourite page, a saucy boy 
of sixteen, with a long feather in his cap, and a precocious 
moustache on his upper lip, as he sprang otif the bench, and all 
the pages rushed into the palace to announce the intelligence. 

The dogs barked, and the hawks screamed and flapped their 
wings. 

The arquebusier shouldered his arquebuse, and turned out 
the guard ; the arms rattled on the pavement ; the drum beat ; 
and the whole palace of Falkland was aroused like that of the 
sleeping beauty in the wood. 


348 


JANE SKTON ; OR. 


CHAPTER LI. 
the king and the cardinal. 

Ne’er should be a vassal banished, 

Without time to plead his cause ; 

Ne’er should king his people’s rights 

Trample on, or break the laws ; n 

Ne’er should he his liegemen punish, 

More than to iheir crimes is due ; 

Lest they rise into rebellion — 

That day sorely would he rue.” 

Rodrigo of Bivaf 

** His eminence the cardinal, may it please your majesty,” said 
the little Lord Claud, announcing the visitor. Setting down 
the .ap-dog, king James started from his seat, and without any 
further preamble, the tall and stately figure of Beaton approach 
ed him. James knelt for a moment to receive his blessing, and 
then pressed his hand in silence. 

The poor king looked paler, thinner, and sadder than when 
the cardinal had seen him last in Holy rood, beside that grave 
over which n, nation mourned ; but this did not prevent the 
perfect courtier from saying — 

“T rejoice to see your majesty looking so well.” 

It is not merely to flatter, you have disturbed my sad retire- 
ment,” said James, with one of his old smiles; “but welcome 
heartily, Lord Cardinal ; I have longed to converse with you, 
anent many things.” 

The little dog whined, and the king took it again in his 
hands to caress it, whilst the page withdrew, and the cardinal 
seated himself. “ Here are splendour and magnificence,” thought 
he, “ saloons full of guards, and chambers full of courtiers, pages, 
lacqueys, wealth and rank — but where is happiness ?” 

“My lord,” said James, “I have many questions to ask you 
concerning my poor Vipont, the trial of the Lady Seton, and 
her mad brother’s,invasion of Inchkeith single-handed. Faith ! 
he is quite a devil of a fellow ! But first tell me what rumour 
:s this, of cannonading in the river Forth, which reached mo 
this morning ?” 

“ Oh, it was merely Monseigneur Claude d’Annebault, Admi- 
ral of France, who has brought the new ambassador, escorted 
by eight frigates, which have anchored oft’ the Beacon rock at 


the king’s ADt^OCA'IE. 34 J) 

Leith, where they saluted the Scottish flag, and the ships of Sii 
liobert Barton replied by their culverins.” ^ 

'^^rnes, sadly; “and this ambassador?” 
n 111 pay his respects to your majesty to-morrow.” 
i5y my soul, I thought it was the Lord Howard with the 
fleet ot my uncle Henry ; and that he had come to blows with 
stout Sir Kobert. 


“ A new ambassador from England is also coming hither.” 

Ah ! — and concerning what?” 

“ A league with Henry. Need I implore your majesty,” said 
the cardinal m the most impressive tones of his persuasive 
voice, need I implore you to beware ! He comes to crave an 
interview, that Henry may instil into your heart his own hatred 
ot h ranee and heresy to God.” 

1 I?. ^ Magdalene— the France of Scot- 

land s old alliance ! Nay, my Lord Cardinal, I need no warn- 
^ grasping and aggressive spirit in England, of 
which Scot and should beware; but can my heretic uncle ima- 
gine that he will induce me to bring about here the same 
change of religion that he, by a single word, has wrought in 
Lijgland ?” ^ 


“ He cannot ; but he thinks that England will never be tho- 
roughly Protestant, or at least opposed to Rome, while Scotland 
remains Catholic and true ; thus his whole soul is bent on 
breaking that continental alliance which aggravates, as he 
*hmks, our old and just hostility to his people.” 

“ Is not the alliance broken ? My poor little Magdalene !” 

“ Thou hast most unwisely and unjustly permitted Sir David 
Lindesay of the Mount, George Buchanan and others to satirize 
the bishops and orders of clergy ; yet, in the name of the latter, 
I have this day approached your majesty, to oflfer an annual 
subsidy of fifty thousand crowns from the rents of the kirk to 
enable you to defend yourself more ably against England and 
her allies the Portuguese.” 

“ This is well ! the crowns are right welcome.” 

“An ambassador ” 

“ What — another ?” 

“Is coming from Rome, with a consecrated sword, which 
with his own sacred hands his Holiness has whetted on the 
altar-stone of 8t. Peter — yea, whetted against the English people 
and their king, whose fleet is now out on the high seas to 
intercept the envoy and his gift.” 

“ Indeed !” 


350 


JANE seton; or, 


“ Thou seest how far these English will dare.” 

“ If the ambassador is taken before Barton can reach the 
Downs, then d— n England— we’ll go to war with her ! and 
here into your hands 1 commit the books written by Henry, 
and brought hither by the Welsh bishop of St. David’s, wherein 
he defends so boldly the principles of Luther.” 

“ Good ; I shall burn them on the first occasion, before my 
gate at St. Andrew’s,” replied the cardinal, as he threw them 
outside the chamber door to his page who waited in the gal- 
ery. 

“ With thy advice I broke off the meeting which Henry pro- 
posed at York ; so we may now prepare for war in earnest— 
a war that will pour forth our Scottish blood like water 5 but 
on the plains of our hereditary foe. The Scottish people should 
be ever like a drawn sword, the king being the hilt— his sub- 
jects the blade.” 

“ Gladly will I head the army,” said the cardinal, whose eyes 
sparkled. 

“ Nay,” replied James, drily, and with a smile; “should war 
be resolved on, I shall lead the army in person, as my predeces- 
sors have always done. What say the laws of the church on 
prelates leading armies ?” 

“ It is forbidden by the canons of John VIII.” 

“ Sir Oliver Sinclair, of Ravensheugh, is a brave serviteur of 
the crown, and he may be my lieutenant-general.” 

“ Sire, Sir Oliver of Ravensheugh is a mere laird, and no lord 
will follow him to the field. But we are well prepared for any 
emergency. The Earl of Buchan commands on the Eastern 
Marches, the Lord Sanquhar on the West ; and the Lord Yester 
commands the Middle. Their paid bands of horse and foot are 
ever on the alert. Our ships of war are not so numerous as 
they soon shall be ; but they fully equal to those of England in 
every respect, for the Unicorn, the Salamander, the Morischer, 
and the Great Licm, are each as large, if not larger, than the 
boasted Harry. Then we have the little frigate taken by 
Sir Robert Barton, from the Admiral Howard, in Yarmouth 
Roads.” 

“ The Mary WiLloughhie 

“ Mounting twenty culverins, besides arquebuses and cross- 
Dows ; and we have six others on the stocks at the New Haven, 
Including those which came from France,” continued the car- 
dinal, consulting his note-book, “ we have one iiundred and fifty 
piecjes of cannon in our arsenal ; and Scotland was never bettei 


the king’s advocate. 


351 


prepared for war than at the present hour — nay, not even in the 
days of James IV.” 

For which I thank the ability of vour eminence,” replied 
James, who cordially disliked his unJie Henry. “My father 
James IV. entered England, whenever he chose, at the head of 
an army ; but I, unfortunate ! have a stiff-necked people, who, 
much as they' love me, will not fight unless their parliament 
tells them to do so ; and worse than all. Cardinal, the people— 
hate thee !” ^ 

“Faith, sire, they are ready to hate any one — the rabble.” 

“ Impatient ot thy power and princelv offices, they think the 
royal authority will soon sink to nothing beneath the shadow 
ot so great a minister. But what matters it ? I long for war, 
because I am weary of life ; while thou longest for it, simply 
because thou hatest the English. Lord Cardinal, I am come of 
a doomed race,’ said James, with a shudder, as the vague ter- 
ror that his house was fated to fall with himself, came upon 
him, and a gloom spread over his manly brow. “ I remember 
me ot a prophecy that was made by a weird woman of Strath- 
gi\ffe to Allan the great steward, ‘that never one of his race 
should comb a grey head and fearfully hath that prophecy 
been verified!” f i j 

The eyes of the good king filled. 

“ Come my time when it may,” he continued, “ I know that 
my dear Scottish subjects will i^emember me long. Cardinal, 
my people call me king of the puir^ and I am prouder of that 
title than of the thorny crown the Alexanders, the Constantines, 
and the Bruces have left me. The blessings of the poor and 
the lowly attend me when I walk abroad without guards, with- 
out retinue, without arms. I hate the nobles^ for they are ever 
ready to barter their country and their God for foreign gold : 
and Scotland’s nobles will one day be Scotland’s destruction. 
Pardon this honest vanity ; but I feel that to reign in the 
hearts of my people is a great and glorious thing. There are 
many kings in Europe, but not one is called the- father of his 
poor but James Stuart of Scotland. I am ever among them. 

I visit the highways and the byways, the gloomy streets, the 
miserable garrets and the famished cottages where pestilence, 
or poverty, or tyranny, have been. I know where misery is, or 
wrongs are endured. Disguised as a beggar, I discover them ; 
as a king and a gentleman I alleviate or revenge them. The 
hard hands I have shaken, and the humble hearts I have glad- 
dened, will serve me to the last gasp ; and the ingleside wher« 


352 


JANE SETON ; Oil, 


a king has sat and supped his kail with the gude man, or toyed 
with his bairns, will long be remembered in tradition when the 
king and the clown are blended in one common dust. Thus I 
feel with joy that I shall go down to my grave at Holyrood with 
the blessings of my people, and shall be remembered long in 
the land, which my father bequeathed me from the field of 
Flodden.” 

The king paused ; and the cardinal, remembering his pledge 
to Father St. Bernard, deemed this the best opportunity for 
opening the trenches. 

“ Sire, this is a good and holy frame of mind,” said he; “ and 
I sometimes see the truth of what Buchanan teaches (heretic 
and republican though he is), that impulses to good or evil are 
common to all ranks of men, and in these respects all men are 
equal.” 

“Cardinal, all men are equal, too, in the grave. Were a 
beggar laid beside me at Holyrood, he would be as great as me, 
and I no greater than he.” 

The cardinal could scarcely repress a gesture of impatience. 

“ 1 fear me,” said he, “ that the solitude of F'alkland oppresses 
your majesty’s mind ?” 

“ It is in solitude that God speaks most to man ; and I, O 
cardinal, have been in solitude since my poor Magdalene was 
lost,” replied James, kindly caressing the little dog. 

“ She is not lost; but gone before.” 

“Cardinal,” said James, looking up with his hazel eyes full 
of tears, “ I pray for her daily.” 

“ One act of mercy performed in her name and memory, 
will do more for the soul of Magdalene than a thousand 
prayers.” 

The king looked earnestly, perhaps suspiciously, in the dark 
and majestic face of Beaton, and said, — 

“ Your eminence actually means this?” 

“ Most solemnly!” 

“ Then what is this act of mercy ?” 

“ A pardon for the Lady Jane Seton.” 

James’s bright eyes flashed with fire, and he twisted his 
brown moustache with anger. 

“ Now, by the Holy Communion, this is too much ; a pardon 
for the destroyer of Magdalene of France— for this daughter 
of a Douglas, and sought in this tower of Falkland, the^ery 
chamber where her sire the Lord John of Ashkirk, and her 
grandsire Sir Archibald of Kilspindie, detained me once a 


THE king’s advocate. 


353 


prisoner, with a guard of some five hundred Douglasses, from 
whose surveillantie 1 had to fiy like a thief in the night! Lord 
cardinal, it is impossible.” 

It was seldom that James refused him a favour, and his emi- 
nence was piqued. 

“ There is but one day now, and I beseech your majesty to 
consider well.” 

“ 1 have considered well. The Countess of Arran and I 
talked over the matter for three hours yesterday.” 

“ The Countess of Arran !” muttered the cardinal ; “ women 
— women 1 there is ever mischief where they are concerned. 
It would have been well had they been altogether omitted in 
the great plan of human society.” 

“ And to lessen this evil to the public thou keepest a dozen 
of them shut up in the tower at Creich, all fair and jolly damo- 
sels,” said the king, with something of his old raillery ; “ truly, 
Lord Cardinal, my subjects of Fife are much indebted to thee.” 

“ I assure your majesty,” said the cardinal, with increasing 
pique, “ that to the best of my knowledge the whole trial and 
accusation hath been the prompting of revenge in Sir Adam 
Otterburn of Redhall.” 

“ Of my lord advocate ? Impossible I why, the man is vir 
tuous as Scipio, and upright as iirutus ?” 

“ But in their excessive zeal, the judges have wrongly con- 
strued the depositions. I implore you to reflect; her death 
will make an irreparable breach between the races of Stuart and 
Douglas. War alone will not make a monarch illustrious. 
The splendour of valour and chivalry dazzles for a time ; but a 
noble action lives in the memory of the people for ever.” 

“ True ; but beware, lest I deem thee a follower of Angus.” 

“ I follow a master who is greater than all the princes of the 
earth,” replied the stately prelate, warming ; “ and the opinions 
of the poor worms that crawl on its surface are nothing to me.” 

“ Is this the fag-end of some old sermon ?” 

“ Sire, thou mockest me, and I have not deserved it of thee,” 
said the cardinal, rising with dignity ; ‘‘ but let not the ambas- 
sadors of foreign princes see thy weakness, and how thou car- 
riest thy vengeance even against a helpless woman. Was it 
for such an act as this, that Francis the Magnanimous sent thee 
the collar of St. Michael ; that the great Emperor Charles, the 
victor of sixty battles, sent thee the Golden Fleece ; and Eng- 
lish Henry, his noble Order of the Garter? I trow not. 
Glory and virtue cannot exist without mercy — the first is but 
23 


864 


JANE SKTON ; OR, 


the shadow of the other two. In this case, close thy heart 
against hatred, and thou wilt soon become merciful, even to 
these hated Setous and Douglasses. Sire, sire, to thy many 
good actions add but this one more.” 

“ Cardinal, thou pleadest well ; but sayest nothing of my gal- 
lant Vipont, my comrade in many a harebrained French adven- 
ture. I would have given my best horse and hound — even 
Bawtie, to have seen him confronting Abbot Mylne, and his 
fourteen black caps ! But the sorceries, the vile sorceries of 
his lady ” 

“ Are about as true as the miracles of Mahomet.” 

“ How ! Did she not confess them to the whole bench ?” 

“ True,” replied the cardinal, with a smile; “when her ten- 
der limbs were being rent asunder by the rack.” 

“ The rack ! the rack ! Oh, was it only on the rack she 
confessed these things ?” 

“ As thou, sire, or I would have done, under similar circum- 
stances.” 

The king seemed thunderstruck. 

“ A pen ! a pen ! though a Seton, and a Douglas’s daughter 
too, I forgive her — she is saved !” 

A few hours after this, when the sun was setting on the East 
Lomond, Lewis Leslie of Balquhan, mounted on a fleet horse, 
with the pardon, signed, sealed, and secured in a pouch that 
hung at his waist-belt, was galloping through the parks of Falk- 
land, on his way to the capital. 


CHAPTER LIT. 

THE LAIRD OF CLATTO. 


“ Farewell Falkland, the forteress of Fyfe, 

Thy polite park, under the Lawmound law» 

Sumtynie in thee, I led a lusty lyfe, 

The fallow deer to see thaiin raik on raw. 

Court men to cum to thee, they stand grait aw, 

Sayand thy burgh bene of all burrowis baill. 

Because in thee, they never gat gude aill.” 

Complaynt of the Papingc. 


Bv the machinations of Red hall and the subtle ability of Bir 
I el, his messenger, there lay many a deadly barrier, and many 


THE king’s ADVOCAT®. 


355 


a sharp sword, between the gallant Leslie and the city of Edin- 
burgh. 

Ihe last rays of the sun had vanished from the furzy sides 
and green summit of the East Lomond, once called the Hill of 
the Goats, in the language of the Celtic Scots, when he quitted 
the park of Falkland, and struck into an ancient horseway, 
which, under the shadow of many a venerable oak tree, led him 
towards Kirkforthar ; and soon the hill of Clatto became visi- 
ble as it rose about live miles distant on his left. 

At that very time a party of horsemen, well armed with 
lances, two-handed swords, and daggers, and wearing steel caps, 
with jacks ot mail, rode round by the edge of a great and 
dreary peat-moss, which then lay at the base of Clatto hill ; and 
passing the old chapel of Kirkforthar, concealed themselves in 
a tlncket of beech trees, near an ancient mill, some moss-grown 
fragments ot which are still remaining near the highway. 
There two of their number dismounted, and borrowing a couple 
ot shovels from a neighbouring cottage, with the utmost delibe- 
ration, after carefully removing the green turf, proceeded to dig 
a grave. 

Of these horsemen, fifteen were Redhall’s own vassals, led, 
not by Birrel, for that arch-conspirator had reserved unto him- 
self another part in this cruel and cowardly drama, but by Tam 
Trotter and Dobbie, both of whom felt their personal import- 
ance and dignity increased to an unlimited extent by this com- 
mand ; and Dobbie’s cat-like visage wore a comical expression 
of martial ferocity, as it peeped out of the depths of a vast 
helmet of the sixteenth century. 

The other horsemen were led by John Seaton of Clatto, the 
representative of a family which had long been infamous for 
its lawless acts and readiness to perform any outrage. The 
ruins of their tower are still to be seen at the south-east end of 
Lathrisk, as the parish was then named. 

The old road from Cupar to Kinghorn passed through a 
gorge, called Clatto Den, and in the face of the mountain 
which overhung that narrow bridlepath there lay a cavern, the 
mouth of which was concealed, but whose recesses aftbrded a 
subterranean communication with the vaults of the strong tower 
above ; and there the bandit family of Clatto were wont to 
rush out and butcher those unsuspecting persons who rashly 
passed through the Den alone, either by night or by day. 
James IV., when travelling with two esquires, had narrowly 
escaped assassination there, but cutting a passage through, 


356 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


escaped, leaving one of his assailants minus a hand. In his 
ignorance of the owner’s free propensities, the king took shelter 
in the tower, wlien finding that Seaton’s sixth son was maimed, 
the guilt of the family came to light; the secret passage to the 
tower was discovered ; the old ruffian laird and all his sons 
were hanged, save Jolni tiie youngest, who, being then a child, 
escaped to figure on the present occasion. 

Justice was more severely administered under James V. ; 
Jius the exchequer of the Laird of Clatto being somewhat low, 
the accoutrements of his fourteen horsemen were rather dilapi- 
dated and rusty ; but like their riders, the horses of his troop 
were fresh, strong, sinewy, and active. Having a plea anent 
meithes and marches with the Boswells of Dovan, the promise 
of a decision in his favour had drawn him from his lair, on the 
dark errand of Redhall. 

The cavern that lay below his tower is now concealed, by the 
impending side of the Den having fallen down a few years 
ago, and choked up- the entrance ; but the peasantry still point 
to the place with fear and abhoi-rence. 

Rendered thirsty by a six miles’ trot from the tower of Clatto, 
John Seaton, while his men were coolly digging a grave, went 
boldly to the mill of Kirkforthar, and demanded a cup of ale, 
upon which the miller gave it submissively, and without asking 
a question, for he knew that it was as much as the lives of his 
whole family were worth, to ask on what errand the Laird of 
Clatto was abroad in the gloaming. 

“ Harkee, miller,” said he, with a grin, exhibiting (between 
his bushy moustachios and beard, which almost concealed the 
cheek-plates of his open helmet) a set of those sharp white 
teeth, which bespeak a strong, healthy fellow, who is often hun- 
gry but always happy : “ Harkee, Carle Miller ; baud fast your 
yett, steek close your een and lugs, and steek them ticht, for 
the next twa hoors ; and tak’ ye tent to near nocht else, but 
ablins the splash o’ your milnwheel, till the mune glints abune 
the moss.” 

“ Langer, gif it please ye, laird,” replied the poor miller, 
trembling. 

“ Ou, that will be lang enow ; but tak’ tent o’ my words ; 
hear ye nocht, and see ye nocht; or I may come doori by the 
Mossend some braw nicht, and the miln o’ Kirkforthar will be 
toom o’ a tenant in the morning ; keep close by your ingle 
cheek, carle, for the chields o’ Clatto winna thole steering.” 

And carefully wiping a few drops of ale from his cuirass, 


THE king’s advocate. 


357 


which was magnificently cut, worked and inlaid with the most 
rare damascene work, he left the low thatched mill and sprang 
on horseback. 

Meanwhile Leslie was galloping by the northern base of the 
East Lomond. His horse was a strong and active roadster, 
which he had received from the king’s master stabler. Fortu- 
nately he had taken the precaution to retain his armour, which 
was a ribbed Italian suit, studded with gilded nails, and on the 
globose cuirass of which his coat of arms were engraved. His 
gauntlets were overlapping plates, without finger scales, thus, 
with the ample steel hilt of the sword, forming a double protec- 
tion for the right hand. His arms were a long straight rapier 
and dagger, and at the bow of his demipique saddle he had 
a pair of firelock dagues, or pistols. The latter every gentle- 
man carried when travelling ; and the former were as necessary 
to a cavalier of the time as his feather or spurs. 

His horse having lost a shoe, the delay caused by the neces- 
sity of having this loss repaired by a roadside Vulcan made the 
evening dusk before he approached the mill of Kirkforthar. 
The summer moon shone brightly in the blue sky, and clearly 
and strongly the outlines of wood and mountain rose against it. 

On Leslie’s right rose the steep Lomond; and on his left 
extended the vast moss, amid the wilderness of which many a 
deep pool of water lay gleaming in the moonlight. The district 
was desolate and wild ; but no idea of danger, or of molestation, 
occurred to the mind of the solitary horseman, who rapidly 
approached the mill of Kirkforthar, where the dark foliage of 
some old beech trees overshadowed both sides of the way ; and 
where, save the cry of the cushat-dove, all was still as death. 
A red spark that glimmered among the trees, alone indicated 
where the mill lay. 

Leslie checked the speed of his horse, as the road plunged 
down into this obscurity, which he had no sooner penetrated, 
than he found his course arrested by two bands of armed horse- 
men, who wheeled round their ranks from each side of the road, 
barring their passage by their levelled lances and uplifted 
swords. Well was it for Leslie that his fiery horse made a 
demi-volte, giving him time both to escape their weapons and 
unsheath his own. 

“ Make ye way, sirs ! I am on the king’s service !” he exclaim 
ed, still backing his horse, but disdaining to fly. “ Plague ! 
the sheriff of Fife has surely bad deputies ! But whoever you 
are, rascals, the life of Balquhan for the best life among ye !” 


558 


JANE SKTON ; OR, 


And dashing spurs into his horse, he broke through the 
wliole band like a whirlwind, thrusting one through the body, 
bearing down another, unhorsing a third with his foot; and 
passing unhurt through the hedge of steel around him, left 
John of Clatto and his ruffians to deposit one of their own 
number in the grave they had dug so carefully in the thicket 
near the mill. 

He heard behind a storm of oaths and outcries, mingled 
with the clash of arms, and the rush of galloping hoofs, as the 
horsemen broke tumultuously out of the wooded hollow, and 
poured along the highway, in fierce pursuit of him. Heedless 
of their taunts and shouts, Leslie spurred on : he had now been 
made aware that there were those upon the road whose interest 
it was to intercept him. On, on he went by the skirts of the.deso- 
late and moonlighted moss, and his anxiety was not lessened by 
the reflection that he had to pass by the Tower of Bandon, whoj^e 
proprietor was his enemy ; and in a few minutes he saw the square 
outline of this fortalice, with its angular turrets and grated win- 
dows, rising above the roadway, among a group of old ash irees. 

The pursuers were close behind. 

Leslie was almost tempted to turn towards the moss ; but to 
one so ignorant of its paths, such a measure might prove a cer- 
tain death, while the risk was scarcely less in keeping near the 
barony of Bandon. ILilf-a-mile before him, on the open muir- 
land, he saw several men on horseback, and his practised eye 
soon discovered that they were twelve in number, and armed, 
for the moonbeams were reflected from twelve helmets. Then 
his heart became filled with rage ; for though he knew not why 
his path was thus beset, he knew that if he were slain, and the 
pardon was not delivered -by a certain hour in Edinburgh, the 
unhappy Jane Seton, the promised bride of his friend, would 
be assuredly led forth to perish by a shameful and frightful death. 

Many of the troops from which he had escaped, not less 
than twelve perhaps, were scarcely a hundred yards behind 
him ; now he saw as many more in front, and his forebodings 
told him that they were the Lindesays of Bandon. At Balbir- 
nie there stood an ancient cross, erected by a gentleman of the 
neighbourhood, who had slain another at that place; and this 
cross (which is still standing) Leslie knew would aflbrd him a 
sanctuary, if his pursuers were old Catholics ; but he remem- 
bered that the Reformation had made vast progress in Fife, and 
that its proselytes would not hesitate to violate any sanctuary; 
60 instead of pressing onward to gam this bourne, supposing 


THE king's advocate. 


359 


that the direct road might be beset still further on, he turned 
abruptly to the left, and plunged down a narrow strath, which 
led, as ho was aware, towards the village of Markinch, and the 
strong castle of the Lundies of Balgonie. 

A shout burst from the horsemen on the muir, on finding 
that he thus avoided them ; and joining with those who came 
from Kirkforthar, they all urged their horses to the utmost 
speed to intercept the gallant messenger. Many a dague and 
petronel were fired after him, and he heard the balls, as they 
whistled sharply past his ear, crash among the branches of the 
wayside trees, or sink into the flinty road ; but after some twen- 
ty or thirty shots, the firing ceased, as the troopers rode in such 
haste that they had not time to reload their firearms. On, on 
came horses and men at headlong speed, rushing, a troop of 
evil spirits, along the moon-lighted strath ; now dashing through 
coppice and underwood, then splashing through a brawling 
mountain burn ; now sweeping noiselessly over the yielding 
moss and heather muirland, and anon breasting gallantly up 
the pasture braes ; but Leslie being mounted on one of King 
James’s best horses, fresh from its stall at Falkland, though he 
did not leave his pursuers altogether behind, was yet enabled 
to keep a considerable distance between them and himself. 

And now, upon a little eminence, the village of Markinch, with 
its venerable square steeple of the eleventh century, arose before 
him, and near it he fortunately left almost the half of his pur- 
suers, floundering up to their girths in the deep and dangerous 
marsh which encircled the village on every side save one. 
Here to halt was vain ; fdr the unscrupulous Lairds of Clatto 
and Bandon had men enough to sack and destroy the whole 
kirk-hamlet ; so forward pressed the fugitive, intent on reaching 
the castle of Balgonie, or the ancient mansion of the Beatons 
of Balfour ; where the archbishop of St. Andrews and his nephew, 
the great cardinal, were born. On, on yet ! and he soon found 
himself among the woods of the Leven ; dark and thick, old 
and stately, the beeches were in the full foliage of July, and 
the dense old Scottish firs intertwined their wiry branches with 
tb )m : and now the river, broad, deep, and hoarse, in the full fury 
of its summer flood, swollen by a night of rain, lay rolling in foam 
brfore him; and upon its opposite bank rose, from a wooded 
er-xinence, the strong and lofty donjon tower of that time-ho- 
D' -ured, but now extinct race, the brave old Lundies of Balgonie. 

Glittering in the moonlight, like a silver torrent, the beauti- 
(i 1 Leven swept out of the far and dark obscurity of its foliagt'd 


3G0 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


lell, and in its crystal depths (save where the foam-bells float 
ed^ the sombre outline of the castle, with its turrets, and the 
iteep knowe on which it stood, with all its waving trees, wera 
reflected in the deep and downward shadows. 

There were now not less than twenty mounted spearmen 
still upon his track, and lo ! a deep, fierce current lay foaming 
in his front. On a level sward, Leslie paused with irresolution, 
and before plunging into the stream, surveyed it, but surveyed 
m vain to find a ford. 

He looked back. The hill he had descended was covered 
with whins and scattered trees ; and there, far in advance of 
their comrades, came four horsemen, who were now close upon 
him. With a fervent, almost a ferocious prayer to Heaven, 
he drew his sword and awaited the four, for at the first glance he 
discerned that one of them was his enemy Bandon, who, to 
breathe his panting horse, advanced leisurely at a trot, before 
his three immediate followers. 

“ Guid e’en to thee, my light-heeled Leslie,” said he, with a 
sai-donic grin ; “ thou hast gien us a fast ride and a far one !” 

“ Beware, Bandon ; I ride this night on the king’s service.” 

“ I ken that well.” 

“ And still thou darest to molest me ?” 

“Yea, would I, though ye rode on the errand of the king of 
hell instead of that of the king of Scotland. Have at thee — 
for thou art a Leslie of Balquhan !” 

“ Beware, I tell thee, beware ! My life is not my own to- 
night,” cried Leslie, guarding the impending stroke of Linde- 
say’s uplifted sword ; “ beware thee, till to-morrow only. I am 
the bearer of a royal pardon to Edinburgh.” 

“ To thy grave alone thou bearest it !” cried the other, furi- 
ously. 

Leslie parried the blow, and then replying by a thrust at the 
throat of his antagonist, before withdrawing his sword, bestow- 
ed a backhanded stroke at another horseman, who had covered 
him with his brass petronel, a stroke, which rendered his better 
arm useless. Another deadly thrust relieved him of a second 
enemy, and then he had but two to deal with. 

Round and round him, they both rode in circles, but 
by point and edge, he met their cuts and thrusts ; till observ- 
ing that Bandon was close to the edge of the stream, he 
suddenly put spurs to his horse, and charging him wit^ the 
utmost fury, by a blow of his foot forced him right over the 
bank, where his horse fell upon him, and with its rider sa^k 


THE king’s advocate. 


361 


iDto tlie river. There Lindesay became entangled beneath the 
animal, which snorted, kicked, and plunged so violently, that 
lie was swept unresistingly away by the current, and drowned. 
Next morning, the miller of Balgonie, on finding his machinery 
stopped and the dam running over, was horrified to see a horse 
and his rider, in armour, lying drowned and jamnied under the 
great wooden wheel of his mill. 

A volley of petronels from the bank above Leslie left him 
no time for further defence or reflection ; and with a shout of 
defiance he leaped his horse boldly into the stream, and, re- 
gardless of the bullets which plunged into the water inces- 
santly, exerted every energy to gain the opposite bank, using 
nis hands and knees, half swimming, to relieve the animal of 
his burden (which was not a light one, the rider being in 
nrmour) ; keeping its dilated nostrils above water, and yielding 
a little to the current, he ultimately crossed, successfully and 
‘lecurely. 

With flattened ears and upraised head, the broad-chested 
steed breasted gallantly the foaming water, and snorted with 
satisfaction on feeling the firm ground at the opposite side, 
where Leslie uttered a shout of triumph as he scrambled up 
the bank, and thus by one bold effort found himself free. 

Oaths and cries of rage resounded among the woods behind, 
and many a trooper urged his horse towards the brink, but 
their hearts failed them, and not one dared to cross the deep 
and rapid Leven, by which their intended victim had been 
saved, and their leader swept away before their eyes. The 
lieutenant of the king’s guard now leisurely examined the 
knees of his horse and the girths of his saddle ; looked at his 
sword-belt and spur leathers; recharged his petronels, and 
glanced at the pouch which contained the pardon of Jane 
Seton. He then wiped his sword, and remounted. 

Reflecting that the river was now between him and his 
enemies, that he was sev^eral miles out of the direct road, and 
that (except the ducking) he was not in the least the worse 
either of the ride or of the combat, he resolved, instead of 
seeking shelter either at the place of Balfour or the castle of 
Balgonie, to push onwards to Kinghorn. 

The ramparts of this stronghold, which are eighty feet^ in 
height, were glimmering in the moonbeams, above the tossing 
foliage, as he descended into the hollow which lies to the 
south of it, and then turned westward, little thinking that the 
feroeiou-^ T^ird of Olatto, with Dobbie, Tam Trotter, and some 


362 


JANE SETOlf ; OR, 


fifteen horsemen, in anticipation of such a measure, liad long 
before wheeled off to the right, and were pushing on the spur 
towards the Kin^horu road to intercept him. 


CHAPTER LIII. 


THE FIGHT AT INVERTEIL. 


“ Let us hasten to receive them, 

Placing in the foremost ranks. 

Those who bear the arquebuses ; 

Let the horsemen next advance. 

With the customary splendour 
Of the harness and the lance.” 

CALDEKUn 

With a lieart divided between emotions of rage and exultation, 
the fugitive messenger rode towards Kinghorn. 

The aspect of the tract of country he crossed is very different 
now fi*om what it was in those days. Many places that are 
bare pasture lands were then covered by dense thickets of 
natural wood ; other places, that are now fertile and arable, 
were covered with broom and whins of such gigantic size that 
horsemen might have been concealed among them ; while all 
the straths and glens were filled with the water which then 
fiowed through innumerable mosses and marshes. Streams, 
which were then impassable rivers, have- now, by the drainage 
of the land, and other agricultural improvements, shrunk to 
mere burns or mountain runnels ; while those which were then 
burns and trouting streams, have in many instances totally- 
disappeared; and waters such as those at the Boat-house 
bridge, in Linlithgowshire, and the Eden in Fifeshire, which 
had ferry-boats plying upon them, are now scarcely deeper 
or broader than a wayside drain. Thus, when, to save time, 
and the trouble of riding round in search of fords or bridges, 
the brave Leslie, all heavily armed as he was in Italian plate, 
boldly swam the winding Lochtie and the Ore, near the Spit- 
ialcots, he performed two gallant feats, for then those waters 
foamed in deep, broad currents between torn and rugged banks, 
with a breadth and force very different from what they exhibit 
in the present day, even during the fury of a winter speat. 

’^fore he had entered on the moss and moor that lay 


THE king’s advocate. 


363 


betwe*jn the Ore and an old mansion named the Temple HalL 
which then belonged to the knights of Torphichen, the waning 
moon was disappearing behind the hills, and shed a cold pale 
light on the dreary waste that spread before the solitary rider. 

Having lost all traces of the ancient drove road, which had 
guided him thus tar, Leslie walked his horse forward with 
caution, to avoid the peat-bogs and pit-falls that now surrounded 
him ; while, impelled either by the dreariness of the solitude 
on which he was entering, or by some vague presentiment of 
danger, he narrowly observed every bush and hillock as he 
approached, and listened for any passing sound. 

The moon seemed to rest on the summit of the distant hills, 
the solid outline of which rose blackly against the blue skv. 
Light clouds were floating across her surface ; but a clear 
white light was shed along the countless ridges of the muir — ■ 
the moss-covered roots of an old primeval forest — which 
resembled the waves of a motionless sea. 

A sharp, low whistle on his left, and somewhat in advance 
of him, made Leslie look in that direction ; and he saw the 
moonbeams reflected back from something bright, that too 
evidently was not moss-water, but polished steel; while two 
or three light puffs of smoke curled upward, showing where 
the matches of petronels were being blown for active service. 

The moss was full of armed men ! 

“ Fool that I was not to byde me at Balgonie !” thought 
Leslie, as he put spurs to his jaded horse, and quickened its 
speed to a hand gallop. By his devious route he had now 
ridden fully twenty miles, over a frightful tract of country, full 
of steep hills and rocky glens, deep morasses, brawling torrents, 
and hills covered with forest and brushwood ; he had forded 
three swollen rivers, and thus, like himself, his horse was 
already becoming exhausted. 

“ Hollo, Balquhan !” cried a mocking voice ; “ whither so 
fast ? Is your lady-love sick, or is your house on fire 

A shout of derisive laughter, together with the explosion of 
four long petronels, followed this remark ; and Leslie became 
aw^are, from the sudden bound and snort of pain given by his 
horse, as it shot away like the wind, that the poor animal was 
wounded ; one bullet had penetrated its near flank, and aU' 
other had grazed its ears. 

“ The devil ! ’tis quite an arquebusade ! But I am getting 
used to such music to-night,” thought Leslie, as he gave a 
wistful glance at the Temple Hall, which was not far off. AU 


364 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


property which belonged to the Knights of St. John in Sco^ 
land afforded a safe sanctuary from debt and danger, and did 
so until a recent period ; but Leslie knew too well that his 
present pursuers would violate the holiest shrine between Cape 
Wrath and the English frontier to reach him ; and that he had 
nothing to trust to but the blade of his sword and the heels of 
his horse ; for by the number of ambuscades, prepared in every 
direction, it became evident that his enemies, whoever they 
might be, were bent on his destruction. 

Tall lances and bright helmets flashed in the moon-light, as 
the dark forms of many a horse and man arose from behind 
the heather knowes and clumps of moss and whin to join the 
chase ; and Leslie found that again the ferocious John of Clatto, 
with all his band, was riding on his trail. 

Though the balls which had wounded his horse caused a 
great eflusion of blood, they acted as spurs of fear and pain to 
accelerate its speed ; and Leslie soon heard the shouts, the 
clank of arms, and the rush of galloping hoofs growing fainter 
and fainter with every bound that his fierce strong charger 
made. The banks of the Ore, the desolate rauir, and the grey 
Temple Hall, soon vanished in distance ; and he saw the spire 
of Kirkaldy, and its long and straggling town, rising on the 
left, from the low flat shore of the Firth, which lay beyond it, 
glimmering in the last light of the moon, and bringing forward, 
as from a brilliant background, the innumerable roofs and 
gables, clustered chimneys, and turreted edifices of the vene- 
rable burgh. Near him rose the hill and castle of Raith, where 
Sir John Melville, the great reformer, dwelt; and nearer still, 
embosomed among summer woods, lay the Abbotshall, a seat 
of the abbot of Dunfermline, the site of which is still indicated 
by an old stupendous yew that grew before its gate. Right in 
the fugitive’s front lay the broad green links of Kirkaldy, and 
the glittering estuary, with the black rocky promontory of 
Kinghorn jutting boldly into its waters. 

The strength of his horse was failing fast ; its eyes were 
blinded, and its head was drenched in the blood flowing from 
its wounded ears ; and he felt certain that, to turn from his 
straightforward course, to seek shelter in the neighbouring town, 
would only serve to exhaust it more. He knew well that the 
brave animal was dying beneath him, for with every convulsive 
bound of its foam-covered haunches, the blood gouts gushed 
forth upon the sandy turf. 

Balwearie, in older times the birthplace of the wizaid; 


J 


THE king’s advocate. 


3C5 


Michael Scott, was left behind ; and now the hoarse brawl of 
the Teil — a flooded torrent — rang before him. ' He gave his 
horse the reins, and furiously applied the spurs, keeping his 
head back and his bridle-hand low, as he urged it to the flying 
leap. Lightly it rose into the air, cleared the stream, with all 
its banks of rock and bed of stones, but reached the opposite 
side only to die ; for the noble horse sank down with its fore- 
head on the turf, and after making more than one fruitles 
effort to rise, rolled heavily over, stretched out its legs con 
vulsively, and with that mournful cry which few hear, but a 
horse alone can give, expired. 

At that moment, with brandished swords and panting steeds, 
six horsemen appeared on the opposite bank; and the exhausted 
Leslie knew that nothing now remained for him but to sell his 
life as dearly as possible. 

He was now but two miles from Kinghorn, and after all his 
exertions, he felt how hard it was to die ; and reflected that, 
with his life, the pardon of poor Jane Seton would be futile, or 
forfeited, as she would inevitably be put to death before ad- 
ditional tidings of the king’s favour came from Falkland. The 
very excess of his bitterness gave him a superhuman courage, 
and alone, on foot, he resolved to confront them all ; but in 
doing so, to use every stratagem. 

\Vith the rapidity of thought, and unseen by them, he threw 
himself close beside his dead horse, the body of which wa? 
greeted by a shout of fierce exultation. 

“ Awa and on !” cried John of Clatto ; “ for gif ance he wins 
the burg o’ Kinghorn, the tulzie will be owre, and I sail tyne 
my plea anent the meithes and marches. On, on, ye fashions 
fules ; hae your naigs nae mair mettle than the mules o’ monks ?” 

Leslie grasped his drawn sword with both hands, and as the 
Laird of Clatto leaped the Teil, with one fierce back-handed 
stroke hamstrung his horse the moment its hind heels alighted 
near him. 

With a tremendous curse, this ferocious rider with his steed 
tumbled prone to the earth ; and as they fell, Leslie sprang up, 
and by the same daring manoeuvre, unhorsed another, and 
slew him as he fell. Then rushing to the summit of the bank, 
that he might have all the advantage the acclivity could afford 
him, he stood resolutely on his guard. The rest of the band 
were yet far off, and by their leisurely trot, it was evident that 
flieir horses wer^ breathless and blown. 

“ John of Clatto !” exclaimed Leslie, as he engaged that per* 


S66 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


Bonuge furiously, each swaying his sword with both hands on 
the hilt; “ thou unhanged thief and son ot a thief! now- — now 
shalt thou receive the coward’s reward.” 

“ Faiise coof 1” retorted the other, with one of his ferocious 
laughs, as with a deadly coolness and activity he dealt his 
thrusts, while the force of his parries announced that his eye 
was sure, and his wrist was of iron, as he hewed away with his 
long and trenchant sword ; “ Coward ? ha 1 ha ! ’tis a name 
never kent by a son o’ auld Symon o’ Clatto. Strike weel and 
surely, my bauld Balquhan, for by God and Macgriddel, I sail 
handsell thy braw harness -in thy hettest bluid.” 

“ Dog ! it hath been handselled by the swords of better men 1” 
exclaimed the furious Leslie, as by a single sweeping stroke his 
heavy sword beat down the guard of his adversary, breaking 
his blade like a withered reed, and, cleaving his helmet through 
the very cone, killed him on the spot. A curse was half uttered 
by its quivering lips, as the body fell backwards over the bank, 
and lay half merged in the water of the Teil. With his great 
natural courage exasperated to a terrible pitch by the know- 
ledge that he must inevitably perish at the hands of these cow- 
ards, Leslie fiercely met the horsemen as they leaped the 
stream, and in succession fell sword in hand upon him. A 
shower of blows rang upon his tempered helmet, his eyes swam, 
and, amid a cloud of fire, it seemed as if a myriad of men and 
horses had assailed him, and as if as many swords were ringing 
in his ears, and flashing before his eyes. 

He was soon beaten to the earth, and several men sprang 
from their horses to despatch him, when the shots of two 
petronels were heard, and two assailants sank heavily, dagger 
in hand, beside him, tearing up the grass with their hands and 
teeth in the agonies of death. A rush of horses followed, and 
Leslie found himself free ! 

Clatto’s men had fled ; and a young cavalier stood before 
him richly clad, with three tall feathers in his bonnet ; he was 
mounted on a superb black horse, and in each hand had a 
petronel, from the barrels of which the smoke was curling. 
The drawn swords of his six mounted attendants were gleaming 
in the bright twilight of the July morning, for day was already 
glimmering over the far horizon of the German Sea. The fea- 
tures of this deliverer were noble, but delicate ; his eyebrows 
and closely clipped moustachioes were coalblack, his lips were 
red, and cut like those of a woman, but his large dark eves 
sparkled with courage and animation. 


THE king’s advocate. 


867 


“ Now, by heaven, ’tis our loving cousin and clansman, Bal- 
quhan !” he exclaimed ; for in those days, “ when old simplicity 
was in its prime,” every man of the same name in Scotland 
was designated loving cousin, 

“Sir Norman Leslie,” said the lieutenant of the guard, as 
with thankfulness and respect he greeted the gallant Master oi 
Rothes, the son and heir of the earl, his chief, “ thou hast saved 
me from a cruel and bitter death ! what do I ewe thee ?” 

“ Two brass bullets at a similar juncture.” 

“ May it never happen !” said the young baron, to w'hich the 
Master replied with a reckless laugh, in which his followers 
joined. 

“ Balquhan,” said he, “ this gentleman is your cousin — my 
uncle, John of Parkhill. Here are three men and two ham- 
strung horses lying on the grass ! By St. Mary ! my true 
Leslie, thou hast this night handled the sword as if it had been 
thine own invention.” 

“ Anent what hath all this been ?” asked John Leslie of Park- 
hill, an elderly gentleman, sheathing his sword. 

“ Heaven only knows, sir,” replied Leslie, as he caught tne 
bridle of a riderless horse, and leaping into the saddle began m 
examine the petronels that were attached to ii. 

“ They seem to have found you a rough jouster !” 

“ I am riding on the king’s service, with a pardon for the 
Lady Seton.” 

“ The Lady Seton !” they all repeated, in varying tones oi 
astonishment and satisfaction. 

“ Yes, sirs, I am bound for Edinburgh, and have been thrice 
beset by horsemen, and thrice have swum a river, the Leven, 
the Ore, and the Lochtie !” 

“Sheriff of Fife, what say you to this?” said Parkhill to 
Norman Leslie. 

“ That it shall be looked to, and that sharply,” replied the 
young Master of Rothes, as he replaced his pistols in the hol- 
sters ; “ a harmless rider, a messenger of mercy on God’s own 
service, to be molested thus !” 

“ Besetting the highway — ’tis a capital crime.” 

“ Perhaps John of Clatto (for it was he) thought that mes- 
sengers of mercy, or of heaven, seldom ride in coats of mail.” 

“To thy spurs, Balquhan, and on!” said the Master ; “ the 
poor dame Seton will assuredly fall a victim to the malice of 
the Hamiltons at midnight — this midnight,^ for see, the day is 
dawning. They were setting the stake, and tarring the fag 


868 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


gots, on the castle bank, as we left Edinburgh by the West! on 
last night.” 

“ I go to the King's Horn hostel,” said Balqiihan ; “ would I 
were there, for I am drenched like a water-dog, and well nigh 
wearied to death. Farewell.” 

“Take ye care, sir,” cried John of Parkhill. 

“ Come now, you jest, my cousin,” said the lieutenant, jocu- 
larly ; “ does a Leslie ever fall from his horse ?” 

“ I only mean, beware thee while at Kinghorn, and keep 
thine errand secret ; for there are several men of the house of 
Arran in the burgh, and their nags are stabled at the very hostel 
thou hast named.” 

“Nay, nay, uncle of mine,” said the fiery Norman, “no 
Hamilton would arrest the pardon of any woman; then how 
much less that of a lady of high name and gentle blood !” 

“Nephew Norman, we know not the tricks of which the 
Lord Arran and his faction are capable ; and to whom shall we 
attribute this treble molestation of our cousin, the king’s mes- 
senger ?” 

“ True— adieu.” 

“ Adieu, sirs, with many fair thanks for this good service.” 

They separated, and Balquhan rode on, feeling in his heart 
that he could slay all who bore the name of Hamilton ; for the 
idea that Redhall was his evil genius never once occurred to him. 

Those Leslies who had saved him were, nine years after, 
among the conspirators who slew the great cardinal in his castle 
at St. Andrews, less to avenge the frightful deaths of the early 
martyrs, than as the hired assassins of Henry VIII.; and 
twenty years after, the fiery Master of Rothes died in the battle 
of St. Quentin, fighting valiantly at the head of thirty Scottish 
gens d’armes. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

THE king’s horn. 

Be yet advised, nor urge me to an outrage ; 

Thy power is lost — unhand me ” 

Edward the Black Prince. 

The clock of St. Leonard’s tower struck three as Leslie entered 
the old burgh of Kinghorn, and rode through its steep and 
•traggling, narrow and deserted wynds, to the hostelry with 


THE king’s advocate. 


369 


. . ■ / 

which the reader is already acquainted. Tho.igh a vast sheet 

I; of pale light was spread across the east, sunrise was nearly an 
hour distant, and the whole town was silent as some ruined city 
in a desert; every door was closed, and not a single face 
appeared at the rusty gratings of the 'Street windows. 

It was not until after much noise and vociferation with the 
I drowsy peddies and stable boys that Leslie gained admittance 
to the inn yard, and from the yard obtained ingress to the man- 
sion, where his whole aspect excited fear and suspicion. His 
I armour was dimmed by water, and rusted with^ dew, cut, 

I hacked, and bloody ; the straps were loose and torn ; he was 
feverish and excited ; and there was a stern determination in 
his bearing, as he carefully took his petronels from his saddlebow, 
'I and, ordering the attendants to look well to his horse against 
the time of the ferry boat sailing, entered the first empty cham- 
ber that offered itself. 

He looked first to the pardon, which, notwithstanding his 
frequent immersions, was dry and secure ; he looked next to the 
wheel-locks of his fire-arms, which he laid on his pillow ready 
for immediate service. Thereafter, he examined his apartment. 
The window was two stories from the ground, and a harrow- 
grating amply secured it. Like all others in that age, the door 
was secured by a multiplicity of bars, all of which he shot into 
f||ttheir sockets; and thereafter piled behind them all the available 
furniture — a great oak almrie, a meal-girnel, four chairs, and, 
lastly, the table. 

He then took off his armour, and found that his clothing was 
almost dry. 

“ Come, ’tis well,” thought he ; “ save three pricks and four 
' scratches, I am not a whit the worse, and have still six hours 
for sleeping and dreaming of meny Marion.” 

And after assuring himself that he could not be taken in flank 
either by trap-door or sliding panels, this brave and wary soldier 
threw himself on the bed, and behind his barricades slept 
soundly and securely. 

The ferry-boat was to sail at ten in the forenoon. 

Half-an-hour before that time Leslie awoke, and sprang up 
quite refreshed. His first glance was at his barricade. 

“ Oho ! I have been beset even here !” said he, on perceiving 
that the door had been forced, and the heavy almrie and girnel 
;^pushed about three inches inwards, by w'hich the chairs had 
^been overturned, thus baffling the assault, as their fall hml 
scared the intruders. 

24 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


fl70 

The sun was shining brightly on the river, and the merchanti 
were opening their booths, and displaying their goods under the 
stone arcades of the principal wynd. 

“ This devilish piece of paper is likely to cost me dear. I 
find I must still be guarded,” thought Leslie, as he minutely 
examined his iron trappings, stuck his petronels in his belt, and, 
with his sheathed sword under his arm, descended to the hall 
of the hostel, and ordered breakfast, but without mentioning the 
attempt which had too evidently been made to disturb his pri- 
vacy. Looking sharply around, he seated himself at the arched 
ingle, where a comfortable fire was blazing, and above which 
appeared a rude fresco painting, which represented St. Leonard, 
the patron of Kingiiorn, surrounded by a swarm of cherubs in 
the Lrest of Limoges. 

“ Quick, old hag — my breakfast,” said the traveller to the 
landlady ; “ let your rascals look well to my horse, or look well 
to themselves if they fail.” 

The gudewife, a slipshod and sullen-looking crone, with a 
nose and chin that were nearly meeting, a coif of the time of 
James III., and an enormous bunch of keys, being a little scared 
by the stern and distrustful aspect of Leslie, who sat down by the 
table with his helmet on, left a buxom damsel to attend on him, 
and retired. The young soldier found that his indignation 
could no way extend to her substitute; for her cheeks were 
blooming, and her eyes sparkling with health and good-humour ; 
she wore a very piquant, short linen jacket, short petticoat, and 
her brown hair tied up in a blue silk snood, after the fashion of 
unmarried girls in Scotland. 

A fowl, from among several that were roasting on the spit, 
cheese, cakes, and honey, cold beef, eggs and bacon, with the 
addition of ale, formed then, as now, the staples for breakfast, 
and while it was preparing, Leslie solaced himself by whistling 
the March to Harlaw^ and, by means of a piece of half-burned 
wood, decorating with an enormous pair of mustachioes each of 
the fat little cherubim which surrounded the figure of St. I^eo- 
nard ; an amusement which neither the gudewife, nor Vhe 
diminutive gudeman, whom she seemed to rule with “a rod of 
iron,” dared to interrupt. 

“This is for thee, my rosy belle,” said Leslie, kissing the 
plump cheek of the waiting-maid, after breakfast, “together 
with this French crown; as for the rascal, thy master, and the 
hag, thy mistress, let them rejoice that I have not burned the 
house about their ears, were it but to smoke out certain Hamil-^ 


THE king’s advocate. 


371 


Lous, who, I am assured, are witliiu it. Thou hearest me, 
fellow?” added Leslie, as he passed the laudlord, who, sheep- 
ishly, aud bounet iu hand, was standiug at the door of the 
house. 

“ I do, gude sir, but uuderstand ye nocht.” 

“ Nor do I you ; but wherefore was my door forced last night 
— this morning, I should say — eh, thou rascally Fifer ?” 

“ I swear to ye, noble sir, that, under God, 1 ken nocht o’t,” 
replied the poor man, with the utmost earnestness. 

“ It may be so, for I see that, in thine own house, thou art 
but Joan Tamson’s man, as the saw has it.” 

The landlord gave a sickly smile. 

“ Harkee, gudeman, is thy better-half a Hamilton ?” 

“ To my sorrow, I ken she is, sir,” sighed the hosteller, in a 
whisper ; “ for never one of her name enters Fife, between the 
East and West Neuk, without lying a week and mair at the 
King's Horn^ and never a bodle will she take for the lawing, 
for they are a’ her cousins to the hundredth degree, and will 
scarcely let me call my soul my ain.” 

“ Then, which of her worthy cousins are here now ?” 

“ Sir John Hamilton of Kincavil,” replied the gudeman, set- 
|| ting his teeth on edge. 

“■ And his room ? ” 

“ Was the next to yours.” 

“ Hum ! indeed ; and this Sir John extends his patronage to 
you, gudeman — eh ?” 

“ lie pays like a prince, to be sure ; for he had a fancy for 
my gudewife in her young days.” 

“ He is a man of taste, Kincavil !” said Leslie, smiling; “but 
where is my horse ?” 

“ My son holds it at the gate.” 

“ How the devil ! is that tall fellow thy son ?” 

“ No,” replied the little man, with a grin of bitterness ; “ he 
IS the son of my wife.” 

As Leslie slipped another crown into the hand of the host, 
and was turning away, a tall, swaggering cavalier — the same 
whom Roland Vipont had fought with and wounded near th 
Water Gate, as related in a preceding chapter of tliis history- 
brushed past him somewhat unceremoniously. 

“ Sir John of Kinc.avil !” said Leslie, with angry surprise. 

“ Well, sir ! at your service,” replied the other, swelling up 
In his rose-coloured doublet, and resting his left hand in the bowl 
hilt of his long rapier, as he assumed a lofty attitude. 


S72 


JANE seton; or, 


“ Is this to be taken as an insult ?” 

“ It is to be taken just as you please,” rep ied the oth«i; 
twirling his moustachio. 

“ Take care, sir. I am on the king’s service.” 

“ Does that entitle you to occupy the whole doorway of the 
King's Horn 

“We are not equally armed — you see my coat of mail.” 

“ Oh, that matters little — behold !” said Kincavil, as he 
opened the collar of his doublet, and displayed below it a mail 
shirt of exquisite workmanship. “We are quite equal, my 
friend,” he added, clapping Leslie with easy familiarity on the 
shoulder, while a number of armed men, who, by their badges, 
seemed to be his followers, crowded ominously round them. 

“Kincavil!” said Leslie, scornfully, “the next time thou 
touchest me, pray do so with a hand that is gloved.” 

“ A thousand pardons,” sneered Kincavil, whose insolence 
was as proverbial as his deadly skill and admirable swordsman- 
ship, “ I forgot thou wert Falkland bred." 

This was a phrase of the time to signify foppery, affectation, 
and refined manner. Leslie’s eyes flashed with rage, but he 
leaped on his horse, saying — 

“ I know your object well, villain, to involve me in a brawl ; 
but you will fail. Taunt me as you please, I will not draw my 
sword unless I am molested ; and woe unto them who do so. 
To-morrow I will be a free man, and at noon will await you, 
braggart, on the sands of Leith, near the chapel of St. Nicho- 
las, where seek me if you dare.” 

A shout of derisive laughter followed him ; but, stifling his 
rage, he heard without heeding it, and in ten minutes more 
was on board the ferry-boat, which endeavoured to beat across 
the river against a strong head wind. 


CHAPTER LV. 

THE BLUEGOWN. 


Bless your honour, noble gentleman, 

Remember a poor soldier.” 

Auchindrane, Act I. 

We have now the events of only one night to relate, but these . 


THE king’s advocate. 


37a 


Father St. Bernard, the kind and philanthrc. pic old clergy- 
aan, had prayed fervently that the cardinal, among the multi- 
jde of public matters that weighed upon his master-mind, 
vould remember his promise ; and as earnestly had he im* 
plored Providence to inspire the heart of James with more than 
his usual mercy, that a pardon might be granted to his poor 
penitent, for so a confessor always termed those under his care 
in the olden time. 

Every hour after the cardinal’s departure he had sought Sir 
James Riddel, in the hope that tidings had arrived from Falk- 
land ; but hour after hour passed ; two weary days, and two 
still more weary nights elapsed ; but no tidings came of the 
pardon, and no messenger. 

Could the cardinal have forgotten his promise ? or had he 
failed in his purpose ? The poor friar racked his invention 
with suggestions, but hope died as the evening of the fatal 25th 
drew on ; and Father St. Bernard was forced to confess to him- 
self that she was lost ; for the hour at which the ferryboat 
usually arrived at Leith was long since passed. From the 
rampart of David’s Tower he had seen it pass the Beacon Rock 
and enter the harbour, and with a beating heart he waited, but 
Leslie never came. 

He saw the people already gathering in groups and crowds 
to witness the frightful execution, and the old man wept as he 
sought the knightly governor of the fortress for the last time, 
and turned away hopeless. 

“ Thou good and pious priest !” said Sir James Riddel, 
touched by the old man’s grief, and warmed into a betrayal of 
his own religious opinions, “ why art thou not, as 1 am, a Pro- 
testant ?” 

“ Thou good and valiant soldier ! why art thou not as thy 
father was before thee, a pious Catholic and true ?” asked the 
prebend, in the same tone, as he descended from the citadel 
towards the gate of king David’s Tower, to visit Jane Seton 
for the last time. At that moment the great copper bell of 
the fortress, which swung at the gable of a tower called the 
G unhouse, tolled the hour of nine. 

She was to die at twelve. 

Among all the snares laid for the destruction of Leslie, and 
to obtain the document he carried, Birrel had reserved unto 
himself the last, and, failing others, (which he scarcely believed 
could fail,) the surest, and perhaps most deadly plan for his 
death. 


374 


JANE seton; or, 


The road between Edinburgh and Leith was then a lonely, and 
(after dusk) unfrequented place. Between the monasteiy of 
Greenside, which lay at the foot of the Calton Hill, and almost 
in the very gorge that descends to the foot of Leith Wynd 
and the Port St. Anthony, there was not a house or edifice 
save a little wayside oratory ; and thus between the Loch and 
village of Restalrig on the east, and the old house of Roystoun, 
near the shore on the west, all the country was open pasture- 
land, links, or muir, with here and there a small farm-cot at its 
boundaries, with a kailyard and oxgang of arable land, watered 
by the runnels that ran into the river Leith, which then was 
twice, and in some places, four times its present breadth, cover- 
ing great pieces of holm-land at Comely-bank, and the Canon- 
mills, where the old scaurs that overhung its margin are still 
visible. 

The few persons who traversed Leith Loan on the 25th July, 
1537, could not have failed to remark a man wearing the well- 
known garb of a bluegown, one of the privileged mendicants 
of the charitable olden time. These received a new cassock on 
every anniversary of the king’s birth, together with a pennv 
for every year of his age. The Bluegowns of the Stuart times 
seldom received much, as the monarchs of that gallant race 
were generally cut off in early life by war or misfortune ; but 
the Bluegowns of later years, when kings have been more eco- 
nomical of their persons, have been wont to hail the day of 
his birth with joy ; and those of George III. drew more shil- 
lings Scots than ever did other beadsmen since the society was 
instituted. 

With a black cross sewed on the breast of his long blue 
cassock, as an emblem of sorrow for the late queen’s death, 
and his face concealed in his hood, the beggar, who appeared 
lame in his left, and also lacked the right hand, which was 
hidden in the folds of his ample garment, sat by the wayside ; 
and whenever a person passed (which was very seldom) he 
either begged for alms in a low peevish voice, or repeated an 
ave to show how very good and pious he was, notwithstanding 
the hardness and humility of his lot in life. 

This beggar was no other than Nichol Birrel ; the hood con- 
cealed his yellow visage, his cunning eyes, and matted beard, 
as the blue gown did a shirt of mail, a belt full of daggers 
and pistolettes, and his right hand, which grasped a dague, 
loaaed with two brass bullets. Being certain that Leslie could 
uot escape all the ambuscades prepared for him in Fife, wher# 


THE KING'S ADVOCATE. 


374 


Oobbie and Trotter, with fifteen troopers from Redhall, John 
ot Clatto, with his iawless men, Lindesay of Bandon, with hii 
ruifians, and lastly, Kincavil, a deadly fencer and professed 
duellist, were all induced, under various instigations, and from 
various motives, to beset his path, Birrel kept but a careless 
watch, looking upon Leslie as one whom he had not the least 
expectation of seeing. 

It was one of those beautiful evenings which are common to 
July; and, at a part of the road which afforded him a view of 
St. Anthony’s Port, he lay on a grassy bank, where a thicket 
of hawthorn overhung ihe roadway, which was then but a 
narrow, deep, and rugged bridle-paih. 

Behind lay Lochend ani^ the house of the Logans, perched 
on a rock ; before him stretched the level niuir and pasture- 
land which joined the Firth at the jNew liaven, which had 
been constructed by James I’V ., aii an open and unenclosed 
prairie ; and across it shone the hot rays of the sun then sink- 
ing towards the dark peaks of the Ochii mountAins. The air 
was close and still ; there was no sound but the casual rustle 
of a leaf, or the “drowsy hum” of the mountain bees as they 
floated over the verdant grass, and the air was filled with the 
perfume of the fragrant hawthorn. 

The whirr of the nutbrown partridge as it rose from among 
the long grass ; the voice of the blackbird and thrush, as tiiey 
sang joyously among the gnarled branches of an aged thorn- 
tree ; the solitude of that place, though it lay between a 
fortified capital and its thriving seaport, had no charm for the 
disguised ruffian, nor could they wile him from his deadly pur- 
pose. 

Thrice that day had horsemen left the Port St. Anthony, and 
thrice had the assassin grasped his weapon with the fellest 
intent. The first was the young Lord Lindesay, and he dashed 
up the Loan with all his feathers waving, and embroidery glit- 
tering m the sun. He had not gone to P'alkland, because the 
Lady Margaret Beaton remained at her father’s archiepiscopal 
palace. The second rider was a knight of Torphicfien, in his 
black mantle, with its white cross ; and the third was Sir Andrew 
Preston, of Gourtoun. None of these were in armour, as Bir- 
rel knew Leslie was sure to be, so at their approach, his hand 
three times relinquished the pommel-butt of his dague. Each, 
as he passed, threw alms to the supposed beadsman, and disap- 
peired in the gorge that led towards the city. 

Mid-day passed, and heavily the still sultry afternoon laggeJ 


7 


376 JANE SETON ; OR, 

on. The Bluegown took from his wallet some bread and cheese, 
a roasted fowl, and flask of usquebaugh, and proceeded to dine 
under the bower of sweet hawthorn. 

While engaged in this pleasing occupation, the sound of 
voices and hoofs arrested his attention ; he looked up, and 
beheld a young lady, with several attendants on foot and 
on horseback, dashing straight towards him across the level 
muir, from "the east, and continuing a rapid gallop until she 
gained the opposite bank of the roadway, where she reined 
up her horse, and looked hurriedly round. 

She was a tall and stately-looking girl, with bright blue eyes, 
a blooming complexion, and a profusion of flaxen-coloured hair, 
that fell in heavy ringlets from undbr her scarlet velvet hood. 
She was richly attired ; and as no one could then be completely 
dressed for company, for riding, or promenading, without a 
leather glove, with a hawk sitting thereon, she bore one on her 
right hand, while her left grasped the reins of her fiery and 
Bi)irited horse. The bold and beautiful girl was Marion Logan 
of Restalrig. 

A cloud rested on the usually happy aspect of her broad fair 
brow, and her sunny smile was gone, for her thoughts were full 
of the misfortunes that encircled her friend Jane Seton. Two 
men on foot ran after this party with ail their speed ; strapped 
over his shoulders, each had a square frame of green-painted 
wood, on the spars of which sat a number of hawks of various 
breeds, accoutred with plumed hoods, through which their fierce 
red eyes were glancing, and having little silver bells, which jan- 
gled with every motion. Around their necks were silver collars, 
whereon was engraved the legend — “Zis gudelie hawk belangis 
vnto y^ Kmcht, Schyr Robert Logan of Restalrig and zat ilk.” 

“ Dost tnou see nothing of my father ?” asked the young 
lady of her attendants. 

“ I see nocht, madam,” replied an armed horseman, who wore 
the Logans' livery, and had their crest embroidered on the 
sleeve of his pyne doublet; “but this auld Blewgoon may 
Harkee, puir body,” he added, addressing the disguised Birrel; 
“ saw ye oucht o’ a gentleman in a suit o’ plum-colored tafteta 
wi’ a white ostriijh feather in his bonnet ?” 

“ Had he a blue mantle ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Laced wi siller pasements ?” 

“ Yes — the very same *” 

“ Riding ” 


THE king’s AD\0CATE. 


37"i 


“ A roan-coloured horse.” 

“ With siller bells at his bridle !” 

“ Yes — yes !” 

•‘Well then, I havena seen oiicht o’ him.” 

“ God confound thee ! thou wordy carle, dost laugh at us ?’ 
.aid a falconer, angrily, as he shook his long pole threateningJv 
towards liirrel, whose natural insolence could not omit this 
opportunity of indulging itself a little. 

“’Twas an evil day this to come forth hawking,” said the 
young lady ; “ the day on which my dearest friend is to d^e ’ 

“Now baud ye, Lady Marion,” said the white-haired falconer, 
cautiously ; “ for ken ye not, that noble though that lady be, 
it’s far Trae being safe or wise to claim friendship wi’ her at the 
present time. If Sir Robert turned towards the Corstorpliine 
marshes ” 

“ I hope not, for they are both dangerous and deep,” said 
the young lady, looking westward, and shading her large blue 
eyes with an ungloved hand, that was white as the hawthorn 
blossom. “ God knoweth how sadly and unwillingly I came 
forth this day ; and it was but to please him I forsook our little 
oratory for the saddle. Thou knowest my father, Steenie ?” 

“ Aye, the auld knicht winna thole steerin,” replied the old 
falconer, as he also shaded' his sunburned face with a large 
brown hand, and scanned the glowing west. 

“ ’Tis very strange, Steenie — where was my father seen last ?” 

“ Galloping over the mains, after his favourite hawk, madam,” 
replied a servitor, touching his bonnet. 

“ Mercy ! if he should have mistaken the way, and fallen into 
the moss of Craigcrook.” 

“ Toots, bairn !” replied the falconer ; “ he kens oure well the 
dreich hole where, last Lammastide, we saw young Adamson o’ 
Craig(irook gae down in the floe baith horse and man, till even 
he point o’ his lance vanished ; and there they lie yet!” 

“ Look, Steenie ; is not yonder bird a hawk ? See how it 
scends from Pi 1 rig — up, and up !” 

The tramp of a horse arrested their attention. 

A man on horseback, who left the gate of St. Anthony, came 
galloping from Leith ; his armour flashed in the setting sun, 
~nd a cloud of dust rolled under the hoofs of his horse. 

“ In harness,” said one falconer. 

“ He is not Sir Robert,” muttered another. 

“ St. M ary ! how he drives his horse !” exclaimed Marion 
Logan. 


878 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


“ It is Leslie of Balquhan !” growled Birrel, ferociously, as he 
grasped his dagiie. “ Now, curse be on my folly that sent not 
this butterfly, with her attendant wasps, hence on a fool’s errand.” 

The continual glitter of the rider’s armour showed that he 
was richly accoutred, and the incredible speed at which he rode 
announced that he was nobly mounted. In three minutes he 
reined up his horse at the foot of the bank, where, with a glow 
of pleasure beaming in her beautiful face, Marion Logan recog- 
nized him. 

“ Lewis Leslie !” she exclaimed, and kissed her hand frankly 
to him, for he was her favoured lover. 

“ At your service, my dear madam,” replied the officer^ of the 
arquebusiers, bowing to his very saddle. Birrel’s eyes were 
starting from his head, as he strained his ears to listen. 

“ From whence ?” 

“ Falkland.” 

“ Falkland ! and why so fast?” 

“ Oh rejoice, my dear Lady Marion ! I have here the king’s 
gracious pardon for Jane Seton ; she is saved; and one hour 
from this will see her free !” 

The brave young cavalier shook the pouch that hung at the 
girdle, which Marion had embroidered for him. 

“ The pouch ! d — nation wither my tongue, for it alone hath 
made this woman and her varlets loiter, instead of hurrying 
them away,” said Birrel, as he limped past, and posted himself a 
few hundred yards farther off. 

“Pardoned! — Jeanie pardoned!” said Marion, whose blue 
eyes sparkled with tears and joy. “ Can it be ? Lewis, Lewis, 
how much I love you at this moment ? For this good news I 
would let you have a pi'etty kiss, but for all those eyes about us. 
Oh, what blessed tidings for us !” 

“ Still more blessed for her, I think, and for my brave friend 
Vipont too ! ’Tis all the cardinal’s doing ; his good offices have 
achieved this.” 

“ The cardinal !” 

“Faith, it is thought dangerous for a woman to accept a 
favour at his hand. But dost think, Marion, that such a gallant 
man will permit such an outrage upon youth and beauty, as 
Abbot My lues’ sentence to be carried into effect? No, no! 
Long live the cardinal, say 1. But what a night I have had of 
it, Marion ! nearly fifty scoundrel horsemen have tried to inter- 
cept and cut me off’.” 

“ Hamiltons ?” 


THE king’s advocate. 


8V£ 

“ Hamiltons or hell-hounds, I know not which,” replied Leslie, 
angrily ; “ but I have given more than one the Leslie’s lick, and 
have escaped them, blessed be Heaven !” 

“ My brave friend ! ’tis like thee.” 

“ Lady Marion,” said Steenie, the falconer, approaching ; “ Sii 
Robert is in sicht ; see yonder, by the bank o’ the loch. Noc 
he flees his goshawk at a heron,” Jie added, as the burly old 
knicht WPS seen to rein up his horse, and let the bird slip from 
his wrist. “So — brawly cuisteu oft ! See the hawk is noo 
aboon, and noo it stoops to the quarry !” said the venerable 
servitor, as he waved his broad bonnet ; “ it’s a true bird o’ my 
ain training. See how the sly heron turns up her belly — ah, the 
lang leggit devil ! she seeks to use baith claws and bill ; but the 
hawk passes — noo the hawk tak’s her at the sowse, and strikes 
doon. No ; it’s these Milan bells, they’re owre full i’ the sound, 
and spoil the bird i’ the mounting. See, my brave bird plumes 
her — noo, doon for a croon, like a bowshot 1” 

The birds disappeared among the sedges. 

“ Farewell, Leslie,” said Marion ; “ on, on to the Castle, and 
delay not your errand of mercy. But come soon to see us; 
you know well how lonely we are on the Rig yonder, and how 
well my father loves you. How rejoiced he will be to* hear 
these tidings of our poor Jeanie Seton ; my faith, he will drink 
a deep tankard to-night, for it was but to shake oft' the dolours 
he rode forth to-day, and neither to hunt nor to hawk.” 

“Then, my Marion, to-morrow, at noon, I will stable my 
horse at Restalrig.” 

“We will expect you.” 

“My dutiful commendations to the good knight your father 
and meantime, adieu.” 

With eyes full of aftection they kissed their hands to each 
other and separated. 

Whipping up her tall and fiery horse, with her veil and her 
long tresses floating behind, Marion, by one flying leap, made 
it clear the roadway, and gain the summit of the opposite bank, 
from whence her lover saw her (followed by her attendants) 
cantering across the fields towards the sheet of water which her 
father’s old manor-house still overhangs. She went at a pace 
which put the poor falconers, who were on foot, to their mettle , 
and the young laird of Balquhan, despite his anxiety to delivei 
the important paper, which had thrice nearly cost him his life, 
checked the speed of his charger to look after the retiring figure 
of her he loved. 


380 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


lie little knew what that brief pause and that .ast gla:*ce aft^y 
Marion Logan were to cost him. 

Birrel’s heart danced with joy to see him loitering, while the 
voung lady and her armed servants were fast retiring beyond 
ear-shot. 

The sun had now set, and the dun blaze of light it shed from 
the western hills across the muir of Wardie was dying away. 
The whole Loan from the round arch of St. Anthony to where 
it disappeared under the brow of the Calton, was deserted. The 
Caltoii then was bare, bleak and desolate, or covered by waving 
furze, broad leaved fern, or dark whin; so was the -opposite 
bank, whicli sloped up to the height of eighty feet, and was 
crowned by the chapel and little hamlet of St. Niuian, the 
smoke of which was visible as it ascended into the calm air from 
the cottage chimneys. 

This knoll was named Moultrays Hill ; and between it and 
the Calton the narrow road plunged down into the gorge, where 
the church of the Trinity lay, passing, on the left, the Carmelite 
Friary of the Holy Cross at Greenside. Standing forward in 
strong relief from the dark shoulder of the hill and against the 
blue sky, the broad boundary, the stone cross and crow-stepped 
gables of this edifice, were visible from a group of old elm-trees, 
under which Birrel posted himself. As Leslie approa(5hed, the 
assassin shrank under their branches, drew his hood over his 
face, and gave a last glance to the wheel-lock of his dague. 

A leer of cruelty and malice shone in his eyes, and a horrible 
smile curled his square lips, as, with a limping step, he ap- 
proached the centre of the path. 

“ Gie a plack or a bodle, sir, to help a puir carle that hasna 
broken a bannock these three days and mair.” 

“ Try the Carmelites, my good friend,” replied Leslie, riding 
hurriedly on. 

“The Virgin bless you, noble sir,” continued Birrel, hobbling 
after him ; “ mind a puir soldier of Sanct John, that lost his 
arm fighting under the Preceptor at the battle o’ Hadden- 
rig ?” 

“ An old soldier ?” said Leslie, checking his horse ; “ by the 
three kings of Cologne, an old soldier shall never in vain seek 
alms of me ! Here, thou cunning carle, and say an ave for me 
to-night ;” he stooped to feel for a coin in the purse which hung 
at his sword-belt; then Birrel drew forth the arm that appeared 
to be maimed, and levelled his dague full at the ear of the un- 
suspecting horseman ; his glistening eye glared along the bur- 


THE king’s advocate. 


381 


uished barrel ; the wheel revolved ; a bright flash, the sharp 
report, and a low groan followed. 

Leslie rolled lifeless in the dust beneath his horse’s hoofs, 
with the blood flowing from his mouth. The muzzle of the 
dague having been but three inches from his helmet, two brass 
balls had passed through his brain, and as the wretch turned 
him over, he saw in a moment that the hapless cavalier was far 
beyond the sAill even of John of the Silvermills, the Scottish 
Galen and Avicenna of his age. 

Birrel gave one ferocious glance around him to see that none 
were near ; he gave another at the glazing eyes turned back 
within their sockets, the relaxed jaw and noble features of 
Leslie, which in a moment had become livid and horrible, as in 
the pale twilight they stiftened into the rigidity of death. 

From the dead youth’s glittering baldrick he tore away the 
leathern pouch, and rending it with his dog-like teeth (for he 
was in too great haste to undo the buckles), drew forth the par 
don, and fled towards the city 

And there on the road the slain man lay, with the dew and 
the darkness descending upon him ; and he felt not one and 
<aw not the other. 

. Near him, and under the dark shadow of the hill, his horse 
was grazing quietly, as if nothing had happened. 

An old and withered elm, with scarcely a leaf, but a sprout 
of one of those which lined the way, still remains in the middle 
of the street to mark the site of this catastrophe. 

Slowly the moon rose above the Calton ; the long shadow 
of the hill grew less and less as the orb soared up, until its beams 
fell on the white visage of the murdered man, and on his pol- 
ished armour. A black pool lay near, and mingled with the 
dry summer dust. 

The horse with its bridle trailing was still grazing placidly 
at a little distance. 

Some crows were beginning to perch on the elms, or flying 
round the body with screaming beaks and flapping wings. 

They came from an adjacent gallows on the Lea. 


882 


JANE SETON , OR, 


CHAPTER LVl. 

THE TEMPTATION. 

“ Oh ! Harpalns (thus would he say) 

Uiihappiest under suniie ; 

The cause of thine unhappy day, 

By love was first begunne ; 

As easy ’twere for to convert 
The frost into a flame, 

As for to turn a froward heart, 

Whom thou so fain wouldst frame.” 

Reliq. of Knglish Pjetry^ 1 55T 

The clock struck in the steeple of St. Giles. Jane heard it dis- 
tinctly in her prison. Each note was wafted towards her as 
with a solemn note of lamentation, from the vast and broad 
mouth of the great church bell. Every stroke vibrated pain- 
fully through her heart. 

It tolled eleven ! 

She had but one hour to live. One hour ! and then 

A loud and palpable murmur, as of many thousand voices 
arose in the city ; her heart for a moment died within her, she 
covered her face with her hand, and burst out into a passionate 
prayer to Heaven — for she knew that, encompassed as she was 
by sorrow and despair, and engirdled by that strong tower, tht 
eyes of God were upon her. 

The broad flame of a torch, which was stuck in a tin sconce 
that hung upon the wall, cast a livid glare on the bare masonry 
of the vaulted chamber, on her kneeling figure, on her dark and 
disordered hair, on her white hands, and her whiter forehead. 

“ Roland, my Roland ! thou believest these things of me ? 
Oh, I could never have believed such of thee !” 

A shudder passed over her, and it seemed as if her heart 
would burst. She had received a reply to that paper so cun- 
ningly devised by Redhall, the letter signed and addressed to 
Roland, when suffering under the agony of an artificial thirst ; 
and that answer which showed that he believed in her guilt, as 
confessed to him under her own hand, had crushed her spirit 
more than all the tortures, inflictions, and insults, she had so 
unmeritedly undergone. 

Signed by Roland, but written generally to his dictation by 
the chaplain of the fortress, an old Dominican friar, the reply 


THE king’s advocate. 


383 


ivas sad and sorrowful, full of regrets for her sore temptation to 
evil ; her bitter humiliation, blended with expressions of satis- 
faction at her contrition ; and closing with a pious hope that 
the sincerity of her repentance and the severity of her earthly 
punishments would save her from those of another life, solemnly 
committed her and her works to Heaven. 

This unlover-like epistle, the embodying of which poor Ro- 
land, in his sorrow and confusion of mind, had left entirely to 
the ingenuity of the friar, appeared to Jane Seton the crowning 
stroke of her misfortunes. It left her nothing more to wish for, 
to hope for, or to bind her to the earth. Her Roland had cast 
her off! 

For the thousandth time she drew forth the letter and gazed 
upon the name his hand had traced ; now the paper was sorely 
worn and fretted by her tears. She read it over for the last 
time, sighed bitterly and placed it in her bosom. 

“ It shall go with me to — death,” she said, for, with a shud- 
der, she reflected that by the mode of that death even a grave 
was denied her ; and there was something frightful in the idea 
that a week, a month, or a year hence, no one could point to a 
stone slab or a mound of earth, and say that she whom they 
remembered, or loved, or regretted, lay below — for the ashes of 
a witch were scattered to the four winds of heaven. 

“ Oh, my Roland, thou hast abandoned me ! but God will 
not abandon me !” 

“ Look up. Lady Jane,” said a mild voice. 

She raised her eyes suddenly, but without surprise or terror, 
for neither of these emotions could affect her now ; absorbed in 
her own thoughts, she had not heard any one enter. 

The stately figure of Redhall stood before her. He wore a 
court dress of black velvet, with a white cross on his mantle, 
as mourning for the queen. His close clipped beard and black 
moustache were trimmed with their usual care, but he seemed 
the shadow of what he was. His grave and noble features 
were pale as death, and, like her own, were attenuated to ex- 
cess, but by mental rather than bodily suffering (though he had 
endured both), and their pallor contrasted strongly with his 
large, dark eyes, which were so full of light, and yet were so 
expressive of sorrow. Every part of his dress was black, save 
the shoulder-belt or scarf that sustained his silver-hilted sword, 
and which, like the band of his bonnet, glittered with silver 
embroidery and precious stones, that ever changing in the light 
of the torch, sparkled with a thousand prismatic hues. He 


884 


JANE seton; or, 


held his bonnet respectfully in his left hand, and its long black 
feather drooped on the floor. 

“Look up, Lady Jane,” he repeated; and Jane arose, with 
horror and aversion expressed ’’n every feature of her face. 

“ You have dared to come hither ? Is it to gloat upon the 
Borrow you have made — the poor being you have devoted to 
destruction — a being who never harmed you ? Oh, Redhall ! 
Redhall ! what a plot of hell thy plot has been !” 

“ Dost thou think me cruel ?” 

“ Cruel ?” reiterated Jane ; “ didst thou say cruel P 

“ Hear me, hear me ! for there is but little time, as in an 
hour thou art to die.” 

“ St. Giles’s bell has told me that. Begone, begone ! wretch, 
thou horror and abomination ! Leave me to prayer, I implore 
thee ! to prepare for that death thy guilt, and not mine own, 
deserves.” 

“ Lady, if I am guilty, love hath made me so.” 

“ Love !” 

“ Turned to hatred by vengeance and despair ! Thou didst 
permit me to love thee, and then destroyed the dear hopes 
which that permission excited. Then I hated thee and loved 
thee by turns ; but hatred became the strongest, and I swore 
that never should another man wed thee. Taunted, I longed 
for vengeance, but on thy lover rather than on thee — yea, even 
as the thirsty long for water, and thou art here ! It was my 
destiny, perhaps, to accomplish thy death, and if so, my doom 
and thine must be fulfilled. Thy death ! and yet — yet I could 
love thee, even after all that hath passed — even loathing life as 
I do. To the storm of passions which so lately agitated me, a 
horrid calm has succeeded, and I can look back to the events 
of the last few weeks as one saved from shipwreck might do 
to the boiling ocean he has escaped. Thou lookest on me 
with horror ; yet knowest thou not, Jane, that God put much 
of human kindness in my heart, and, until I met thee, kiie\t 
thee, and most fatally loved thee, I was good and gentle, save 
when men wronged or thwarted me. My capacities for love 
and hatred have but two extremes. Thee, I could have loved 
for ever ! Thy beauty is like that of the rose, or of the lily, 
born to wither, to lose form and perfume ; but my love would 
have endured unto death, and would have passed away but with 
life alone. Taunted and repulsed by thee, mocked by my 
friends as thy play-thing, vanquished by a mischance in com- 
bat with Vipont, whp can wonder that the poison of batrea 


THE king’s advocate. 


385 


<^Dtered my heart ? that it rankled there, and grew strong, dis- 
torting every object to my mind and eye ? Lite lost the few 
pleasures it possessed. 1 thought of nothing but destruction, 
and felt that I was predestined to accomplish thy death, for I 
felt (he added, in the very words of the Jew) that if it would 
feed nothing else, it would feed my revenge — that revenge for 
which I lived alone ! Oh, Jane, this is all the truth, the s?d, 
the solemn truth. Is it not frightful to think that in less than 
one hour thou wilt have to die ?” 

“ The victim of a madman — a fatalist ! Just Heaven, will 
this be permitted ?” 

“ Heaven has left you yet one chance of life,” said Redhall, 
as his eyes lighted up with a wild gleam, and drawing from 
his bosom the pardon, which had cost the gallant Leslie so 
dear, the pardon which was spotted with his blood, and which 
bore the royal signature, James Rex^ and a seal, the well known 
private signet of the king, he held it before her startled eyf*.s 
“ Be silent, and listen. Your life and death are in my hands. 
This is a free pardon from the king, granted yesterday at Falk- 
land. Save thyself, not one in Edinburgh knows of its existence, 
and, without it, you die in half an hour. Oh, ponder well on 
this,” he added, with eyes that eloquently expressed his sor- 
row, triumph, eagerness, and fear, as with one hand he grasped 
her, and held it before her with the other, but at arm’s-len^h, 
lest she might snatch it from him. “ Swear before Heaven, 
the Mother of all compassion, before the Apostle John and all 
the sainf^, to accept me as thy husband ; to banish Vipont from 
thy mind for evermore, even as he has banished thee from his 
and into thy hands I commit this paper, and thou art saved. 
Reject me, I consume it at this torch, and thou art lost !” 

He held the paper within an inch of the flaring torch. 

“ Sir Adam Otterburn,” replied Jane, firmly, and with dig- 
nity ; “ I have nothing now to lose but a life that thou hast 
made hateful to myself, and abominable in the sight of Scot- 
land — a name thou hast covered with such shame that even he 
who loved me most abhors it now. Thee ! the wife of thee, 
thou murderer and assassin of the gallant Bombie ! — thou de- 
stroyer of my honour, and the honour of my family ! Oh no, 
welcome, a thousand times more welcome are the grave, the 
gallows, the stake — death under any form, than an alliance so 
detested. Out upon thee, coward, demon, and tempter !” and 
in the wildness of her scorn and hatred, she smote him on the 
mouth with her clenched hand. 

25 


386 


JANE SETON*, OR, 


“Then be it so!” replied Redhall, with a horrible laugh, as 
an emotion of rage rose within him. “ Thou shalt die as one 
accursed by God and man, with the flames around thee, and 
the yells of an assembled city in thine ears, as the meed ot thy 
unmerited scorn. Proud and unrelenting woman, unshriven 
and unabsolved, even by the fantastic rites of a church that is 
falling, thou shalt die, with the bitter conviction that all thy 
sorrow, and all thy tears, and all thy pain are futile, as the 
wings of the demon are over thee.” 

And with these terrible words he thrust the pardon into the 
large flame of the torch, which consumed it in a momenl. 

Jane uttered a wild cry as he did so ; for an instant the love 
of life had dawned strongly in her bosom. 

Again she sank on her knees in despair, and covered her 
face with her hands ; when she looked up, Redhall was gone. 
He had departed so silently, that she might have deemed the 
whole interview a vision, but for the ashes of the pardon which 
were floating about her.. 

One small fragment, which the flame had left undevoured, 
lay on the floor ; but there was a fiery circle within it — a circle 
that spread and reddened — spread — spread, until it reached the 
edge, where it died away in blackness, even as her momentary 
hope had died. 

At that instant she heard footsteps approaching her chamber 
door, and there was the knell of death in their echoes. 


CHAPTER LVH. 

THE LOCH. 

“ And quickly Walter seeks once more, 

With eager steps the ocean’s shore ; 

And lingers on impatient there. 

The appointed hour — now do and dare ! 

He eyed the high and rugged steep 
Which overhung the foaming deep.” 

The Convent of Algarve* 

To avoid the vast crowds that were assembling on the CastV 
hill, and before the Port of the Spur, Redhall left the fortress 
by the postern gate ; and though the descent from thence to 
the foot of the clifis on the west was steep and extremely dap 


THE king’s advocate. 


387 


gerous, even in daylight, he. plunged down from rock to rock 
grasping the hazel-bushes and wild willows in his progress 
until he reached the old and narrow horsepath which led from 
the King’s Meuse and the tilting-ground towards the venerable 
kirk of St. Cuthbert the Bishop. 

Breathless and exhausted by the rapidity of his descent down 
these pathless and precipitate rocks, and overcome by the load 
ot agony that pressed upon his heart, he sank upon the turf, 
and lay there for a few minutes motionless. 

Above him, the fortress and its stupendous rocks towered 
away into the obscurity of the midnight sky; before him, 
spread the ripening corn-fields, divided by thick hedgerows ; and 
in the hollow on his left lay the kirk of St. Cuthbert, with the 
dim lights twinkling in its aisles, and shedding through its 
Gothic windows an uncertain radiance on the adjacent water ; 
for it had then two minor altars, the great lamps before which 
were never extinguished until 1559. The sky was starless, and 
the moon had gone down enveloped in clouds. The great 
square tower of the church, a monastic relic of the eighth cen 
tury, built by the Culdees of Lothian, stood boldly, in black 
outline, against the dark gauzy vapour that snrouded the 
north ; a rising wind moaned through the marshy hollow, 
shaking the old woods which overshadowed the Kirkbraehead, 
and rippling the waters of the loch, which almost washed the 
castle rock. 

There was a voice of reproach in that midnight wind ; and 
from the passing clouds many a grim face seemed to peer upon 
the unhappy wretch, who, at the foot of the rocks, lay below 
the postern, listening to the fierce beating of his tortured 
heart. 

And save its beating, and the moaning wind, all seemed 
deathly still around him. The gueldre roses and the wild vio- 
lets filled the air with perfume, though the dew of midnight 
rested on their leaves. 

The appearance of Jane, the expression of her eyes, and the 
familiar sound of her voice, had recalled his first passion in all 
its strength ; and before it, for a time, revenge melted away like 
summer mist. He contemplated himself with horror ; but now^ 
to save her, would be to cover his own name with disgrace and 
contumely ; and to avow his master-villany and deep-laid ven- 
geance, though it might snatch Jane from the jaws of death, 
would but restore her to the arms of Vipont, and aflbrd that 
hated rival a triumph which could not be contemplated with 


588 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


calmness. Tbe agony, the repentance, the fear, the shame, 
the abhorrence of himself, and the chaos of his mind, were 
frightful. 

A flame shot across the sky. 

It was but the sheet lightning of summer flashing redly 
behind the afar off hills, and showing the dark woods of Coats, 
and of the Dean that waved between. 

For a moment it illuminated the dark hollow where this 
repentant sinner lay, and gave him a startling shock ; for he 
thought of the funeral pyre that was soon to blaze before the 
gates of the fortress which overhung him. 

“ Jane, oh, Jane !” he cried, incoherently and aloud ; “ oh, thou 
whom I could have worshipped with the adoration of an idola 
tor, but whom I have destroyed with the blind fury of a fiend ! 
Gan I not save thee without burying myself under a mountain 
of disgrace, as well as of misery ? And for this paltry tremoi 
thou art left to die ! thou, so beautiful, so innocent, so pure in 
spirit and so single in heart ! The icy sweat is again on my 
brow, the iron in my heart — for all thine image is before me, 
as it was once, so full of smiles and pride, or bloom and high- 
born loveliness, as on that night at llolyrood. . . . Thy 
voice is ever in my ear, thy name on my lip ! . . . Oh, 
misery ! oh, for one hour of oblivion ! . . .” 

He sprang up, and slowly descending the narrow path by 
the base of the castle rock, below St. Margaret’s Tower, ap- 
proached the loch, but without any defined object. The still- 
ness of its dark and almost waveless water had something in it 
that attracted him involuntarily towards it. 

The loch was then full and the water deep. 

“ Coward that I am,” he thought, “ one bold plunge and all 
would be over.” 

The temptation was a strong one ; there was a rushing in his 
ears, a whirling in his brain, and a fearful palsy in his heart, 
which seemed to stand for a moment still ; he looked around 
him hurriedly, and no one seemed near. 

But a single star was visible, like a watching eye, and its rays 
were reflected in the motionless water under the solemn shadow 
of the impending rocks. 

At such a moment the human mind is like a bullet which a 
hair may turn aside. 

He took one step backward, and was about to make the des- 

f )erate leap, when the sound of voices and footsteps arrested 
dm; and, like one surprised in a guilty action, he shrunk 


THE KING^S ADVOCATE. 


389 


boDind a clump of wild hazel bushes, aud thus was saved from 
th»^ committal of another heavy crime. 

Two men, whom he had not before observed, now appeared 
on the narrow pathway below. One was mounted, clad in half 
armour, and by the ostrich feather which waved in his bonnet, 
appeared to be a gentleman ; the other was on foot, and led a 
horse by the bridle. 

R^dhall heard the name of Vipont. 

It called up all his evil passions and bitter memories. It 
restored him to life and energy of purpose. He put his hand 
on tL<5 hilt of his sword, and listening, approached them steal- 
thily. 


CHAPTER LVIII. ' 

THE LAW OF THE SWORD, 


“ Dost thou, O traitor ! thus to prace pretend, 

Clad as thou art in trophies of my friend ? 

To his sad soul, a grateful offering go ! 

’Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow. 

. He raised his arm aloft, and, at the word. 

Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword. 

The streaming blood distained his arms around. 

And the disdainful soul came rushing through the wound.” 

According to the tenour of his last conversation with bis 
unfortunate lieutenant, when they supped at the Cross and 
Gillstoup, Sir John Forrester had not forgotten the safety 
of their mutual friend, Vipont; and being well aware that 
the hostility of the king’s advocate had no boundary but death, 
while the cruel assassination of Leslie, the scarcely less cruel 
visit of Redhall to Jane, and the destruction of the pardon 
in David’s Tower, were taking place, he had prepared every- 
thing for the escape of Roland from the fortress in which ho 
was confined. 

Aware that the attention of the city without, and of the gar- 
rison within the castle, of the governor, of the provost, and all 
the authorities, was wholly occupied by the preparations for the 
execution of the first sorceress to be burned in Scotland, this 
gallant gentleman wisely considered the hour of midnight as 
the most fitting time to achieve the liberty of his friend. 

Aware that our agile acquaintance. Master Sabrino, could 


890 


JANE SETON, OR, 


climb like a squirrel, he had been employed by Forrester as the 
principal agent in the adventure. 

From the fields on the opposite bank of the loch Sabrino had 
been shown the tower and the window of the apartment where- 
in Roland Vipont was confined, and to that window, at night- 
fall, the active negro had clambered with wondrous bravery and 
skill ; and had introduced to the tower a pair of saws formed 
of the sharpest steel, and a strong cord, of great length, knotted 
with loops for the hands and feet, by which he was to descend 
some twenty yards of the most dangerous part of the rocks ; 
while Sabrino, who could cling to their perpendicular front as 
a fly does to the wall, was to descend without other aid than 
his own black paws and tenacious feet. 

At the very time that Redhall approached, and in the two 
figures recognised the captain of the king's guard, and the old 
servant of Roland Vipont, the latter had just removed (by the 
aid of his saws) the last bar from the window, and trembling 
with eagerness, was preparing to descend the rope ladder which 
Sabrino, with a broad grin on his vast mouth and in his shining 
eyes, fastened to the remaining stumps of the stanchells. 

Who the kind person might be that had furnished and sent 
the bold page with these means of escape, Roland had no 
means of ascertaining ; for, being tongueless, poor Sabrino was 
mute as a fish ; and of all his innumerable signs and nods, 
winks and unearthly chuckles, the master of the ordnance could 
make nothing. 

A plain wooden prie-Dieu formed part of the furniture of his 
apartment. On his knees Roland Vipont sank into it, and on 
a lock of Jane’s hair fixed a long, a passionate, and indescriba- 
ble gaze of love and sorrow, and then uttered a brief, emphatic 
prayer. 

“ Innocent or guilty, I will see her once again, or die in the 
attempt,” said he, placing the ringlet in his bosom, and pre- 
paring to descend. 

The passage of the window was easily accomplished ; and 
reaching the base of the tower, he found himself upon a narrow 
ledge of rock ; the chill wind rushed up past him, and voices 
were faintly borne with it from below. There, the cliff on 
which King David’s Tower was built is somewhat impending, 
and from the broad battlements a plumb-line might, without 
meeting an obstacle, be dropped to the depth of nearly two 
hundred and fifty feet, to the pathway on which Sir John For 
Tester and Lintstock stood on that night. If dropped one 


THE king’s advocate. 


891 


yard beyond the rock, it would have fallen into the waters ot 
the lake. 

Koland’s heart expanded in his breast ; for to his active spi 
rit, which had writhed in captivity, there was almost a relief 
in the new energy of action. 

He descended with equal rapidity and boldness, for he was 
utterly regardless of life, and this very carelessness was perhaps 
his salvation, by affording him the means of achieving that in 
which the timid or the wary man would ultimately have failed. 
The wild wallflower, the strong docken blades, the long grass, the 
longer and more tenacious ivy which grew in the clefts of the 
rocks, or overhung their lichen-spotted brows, afforded him the 
meams of descent after he had passed the bottom of the cord. 

In the darkness and obscurity of the night, he could not have 
been seen even from the windows of Wallace’s Tower or the 
Constable’s Tower, but now their inmates had all deserted them ; 
for the entire population of the Castle were crowding on the 
battlements of the great peel, the eastern curtain, and the 
spur, which overlooked the place of execution, the preparations 
for which were being made on the south side of the Castle-hill. 

He had one risk of discovery alone ; for, not eighty yards 
from where Forrester awaited him, the pathway was crossed 
and defended by the Well House Tower. 

Those of our readers who may have perused our “ Memo- 
rials” of the ancient fortress, may remember how frequently we 
had occasion to mention this now ruined ravelin. 

Built over a fountain, the waters of which fed the loch, this 
strong square tower rose within six feet of the enormous per- 
pendicular cliff sustaining David’s Tower. A massive wall, 
having an archway with an iron gate and loopholes for arrows 
and musketry, secured the narrow path which led to St. Cuth- 
bert’s church on one hand, and ascended the Castle-hill on the 
other, passing between the tower and the rock. The guard 
here had the treble duty of protecting the well, the private 
roadway, and the city wall of a.d. 1450, which enclosed the 
Castle-hill at its northern base. The tower was_ entered from 
the inside of this flanking wall by two doors, which, by a stair 
partly hewn in the rocks, led to the first and second floors. 
The upper was at that time always occupied by a party of 
arquebusiers, and the light of their guard-fire streamed redly 
through two narrow grated win lows upon the still dark bosonc 
of the loch, which washed the north wall and rolled away in 
obscurity towards the east end of the city. 


JANE 8ET0N ; OR, 


it'C* 

Tis.'v the wide ravine that yawned between the southern hil. 
of th-e hiodern Athens and the giant ridge of Auld Reikie, her 
mither-wxin^ was an impassable gulf. Now the waters have 
disappeared, but the tide of life ebbs and flows in their place, 
A stupendous mound and a lordly bridge now cross that hollow 
glen wheie the fountain welled which David, “by consent of 
his earls and bishops,” gifted to God and the Holy Cross, and 
where the queen of Robert III. held her brilliant tournaments ; 
and now, vhe red gleam of the furnace, the hiss of the steam- 
engine, the clink of hammers, the hum of voices, and the roar 
of the railway train, rise up from its depth to scare the wood- 
cock, the snipe, and the wild coot, who come as of old to seek 
the bed where for ages the water lay. 

Once only did Roland pause in his perilous descent, to 
assure himself that he was not seen. Dislodged by his foot, 
a stone gave way, and as it bounded from the rocks he 
heard it plash mto the loch, far, far down below. There, by 
its margin, stood Forrester and Lintstock listening intently, 
and glancing silently at each other from time to time ; for, 
brave and adventurous though the age might be, there were 
bounds, even m warlike Scotland, to hardihood and adven- 
ture. 

“ If he should be afraid to descend !” said Sir John. 

“ Afraid retorted Lintstock ; “ I have kent him. Sir John 
Forrester, since he was a bairn that couldna’ blaw his ain nose, 
and never saw fear in his face yet. There he comes,” added 
the old cannoneer, as the stone we have just mentioned rolled 
over their heads and fell into the calm loch, forming a hundred 
circles on its aark bosom ; “ there he comes — there he comes !” 
continued the veteran, whose solitary eye moistened with a 
tear as he uttered a fervent supplication to “ Sancta Barbara, 
the virgin and martyr, patroness of all bold cannoneers and 
artillery” (ac<)ording to the military superstition of the age), to 
protect his master. 

In a few minutes more, both Roland and Sabrino were seen 
descending the dangerous path. Lintstock uttered a cry of 
satisfaction. 

“ Courage !” said Forrester, placing his hand at the side of 
his mouth, lest the guard at the tower might overhear, and fire 
on them. 

In another moment, Roland, breathless with his exertions, 
was beside them, and in the arms of his old servant, who 
%wore and wept with joy. 


THE king’s advocate. 


39 ? 


His hair and beard were so disordered, that Forrester could 
scarcely recognise him. 

“ My dear friend,” said Roland, sadly, “ if the thanks of one 
to whom life is valueless are worth accepting, take them from 
me a thousand times, and a thousand more. Believe me, I am 
almost mad — I know not what I do, or what I say, or whether 
my words are incoherent as my thoughts.” 

He was frightfully pale and haggard. 

“Truly, Vipont, we live in strange times — times that future 
men will talk of with wonder, for we participate in deeds of 
which our posterity will scarcely believe,” replied Forrester, 
gravely ; “ but I pray you, mount and begone, for we have not 
a moment to lose ! Instant flight ” 

“ Horses and arms ! by what magic hast thou divined my 
secret thought? Oh, my good, my kind Forrester, it is so like 
thee !” 


“ Here is your own sword — the old Italian blade you loved 
80 well.” 

“ I am glad thou’st brought it, for ’tis all my heritage,” re- 
plied Roland, as he buckled it on, and tluiii unsheathed the 
blade and waved it in the air. 

“ My castle in the west is at your service. Mount and ride, 
I implore you, Vipont ; for every moment of delay is fraught 
with danger to us all !” 

“ Mount and ride, say you ? Yes; but not to your castle in 
the west, my dear friend — no ! I have sworn to see Jane 
Seton once again before she dies. Jane ! Jane ! that letter — 
ah ! why didst thou send it, for I would rather thou hadst 
stabbed me with a poniard ? My good sword ! how great, how 
glorious a thing it is to be free, and to feel thee in my hand. 
Now can I deal death for death, blow for blow, and blood for 
blood/ Oh, Foi rester, I feel that wrong and oppression have 
m>de me a very savage.” 

To crush his agony, he bit his lips till the blood came, and 
hastily, but scrupulously examined the bridle and stirrups of 
the horse his friend had brought him. 

Breathlessly, and with a heart full of rage, Redhall from his 
place of concealment had seen and overheard them. 

“ I have destroyed her, and shall he escape me ?” he thought. 
“ No, by the Power of heaven !” and drawing his sword, he 
made stealthily towards the Well-House Tower, for there was 
no lime to give an alarm elsewhere. Thrice he essayed to 
gain it, but in vain ; for those he wished to intercept stood 


394 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


right in the narrow path leading to the gateway which the 
tower flanked ; the cliff rose up on one side like a wall, the 
deep water descended into darkness on the other. 

“ Halloo ! we are watched !” cried old Lintstock, whose 
single eye was worth a dozen of others, and had seen this dark 
figure which glided near them in the gloom. 

Full of rage and shame at being discovered, Redhall, who 
was too proud and too brave to retreat, advanced boldly, with 
his sword in his hand, exclaiming loudly — 

‘‘ A rescue ! a rescue ! a rescue and escape ! Ho, the guard ! 
ho, in the name of the king ! treason ! and breaking ward ! 
treason ! treason !” 

“ Redhall cried Roland in a choking voice. 

“ We are lost !” said horrester. 

Roland could utter no more ; he thought that destiny had 
delivered his enemy over to his vengeance ; and a wild tempest 
of holy fervour and infernal fury filled his heart. He rushed 
upon him like a lion, and they both engaged with blind des- 
peration. 

Their eyes were full of fire, their breasts burning with as 
much hatred as could possibly animate two human hearts, and 
much more intent on slaying each other than on protecting 
themselves, they hewed and thrust, cutting showers of sparks 
from their swords in the dark, while their blades rang like 
bells. They seemed to be transformed into demons by their 
mortal hatred. 

Resolved that even if himself should be slain his enemy 
should not escape, Redhall called incessantly to the guard in > 
the adjacent tower ; and Sir John Forrester, with alarm, heard 
the voices of the soldiers, who were part of his own corps of 
guards, and saw the glow of their lighted matches reddening 
behind the loopholes, and through the bars of the gate, as 
they prepared “ to make service” against those who were 
brawling on St. Cuthbert’s roadway ; in other words, to fire 
on them. 

Before this measure took place the combat was decided. 

Stepping back a pace, and grasping his sword with both 
hands, Redhall raised the hilt above his head, and dropping 
the blade behind him, resolved to give a cut-down stroke, 
which would end the conflict and his rival’s life together ; but 
Roland, quick as lightning, on seeing his wholy body unpro- - 
tected, sprang forward, and ran more than two feet of his long 
double-edged sword through his body. 


THE king’s advocate. 


395 


A groan of rage and agony escaped from Redhall ; with his 
•«ft hand he grasped Roland’s sword near the hilt, and fiercely 
writhed his body forward upon it, to shorten the distance 
between himself and his antagonist, in whose heart he en- 
deavoured to bury a poniard which he grasped in his right 
hand, and for which he had relinquished his sword. 

But seeing his deadly intention, Roland spurned him with 
his right foot ; he staggered backward, the blood gushed forth, 
and at the same moment he rolled over the narrow path, and 
falling off the blade of the sword, sank heavily into the dark 
water of the loch, thus being stabbed and drowned almost at 
the same moment. 

Roland uttered a wild laugh, leaped on horseback, and gal- 
loped madl}'^ away by the base of the castle-rock. 

Forrester followed at full speed, but the frantic horseman 
had disappeared like a spirit round the western side of the 
rock, and even the sound of his horse’s hoofs had died away. 

At that instant a volley of six arquebuses flashed redly from 
the parapets of the ravelin, and their bullets whistled about 
the ears of old Lintstock, who immediately scrambled after 
Sir John Forrester; but one pierced the brain of the poor 
page Sabrino, who fell dead on the spot. 

The discovery of his body next morning caused unusual con- 
Bternation in the “ good town” of Edinburgh, and the expendi- 
ture of several gallons of holy water, which were sprinkled upon 
the livid corse and the place where it lay ; while the tidings 
went far and wide that “ my lady of Ashkirk’s devil had been 
found under the castle rock.” 


CHAPTER LIX. 

THE PLACE OF DOOM. 

“ But when the appointed day was come. 

No help appeared nye ; 

Then woeful, woeful was her heart, 

/ And tears stood in her eye. ' 

■ And now a fyer was built of wood, 

And a stake was made of tree ; 

* And now Queen Elinor forth was led, 

A sorrowful sight to see.” 

Sir Aldringar, an old Ballad. 

On tills night a strange sound floated upward to the Castle o* 
Edinburgh" from the city below ; it was like the murmur of 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


aot 

disUiA wavbs, or of the rising wind shaking the branches of a 
forest. This was occasioned by the crowding of the people to 
wards the place of doom^ as it was graphically named. 

It was a dark midnight, moonless and starless ; the eyes of 
thousands were raised inquisitively to the black, opaque mass 
of the castle rock, and the zone of lofty towers which then en- 
girdled its summit, with their embrasured battlements and 
frowning cannon. 

Culprits usually suffered at a place on the south side of the 
Castle-hill, where a green bank of several hundred yards sloped 
steeply downward from the ramparts of the Spur, to the north 
ends of the closes in the Grass Market, a broad arena which, 
from its fantastic architecture, has been said closely to resemble 
the Plaza of a Spanish or Italian town, and which lies in a 
valley to the south of the Castle. 

The wall of the city, which descended at an angle of nearly 
fifty degrees from the rock on which the fortress is built until 
it intersected the streets beneath at the King’s Meuse, closed 
this sloping bank on the west. The back of a narrow close, 
which was demolished in the civil war of 1745, enclosed it on 
the east, and the Spur, with its strong rampart and twenty 
pieces of brass cannon, overlooked it on the north. There 
were then no Castle Terrace or Western approach to disfigure 
the city on the south, and this green and verdant bank de- 
scended smoothly and gradually downwards to the great market- 
place. 

The stake was placed on a small natural platform a few yards 
square, the same place where Thomas Forrest, vicar of Dollar, 
John Keillior and John Beverage, two Dominican priests, 
Duncan Simpson, and Sir Robert Forrest, a gentleman of Stir- 
lingshire, were burned tor heresy in presence of the regal court, 
on the night of the 2nd of March, two years after the events 
we are about to relate. This was the place of death until the 
year 1681, when the Scottish government deprived the city of 
it for military purposes. 

The stake was a strong column of oak, roughly dressed by a 
hatchet, and had rivetied upon it the hranks^ or witch’s bridle, 
which hung at the end of a short chain. This instrument, 
which was considered so necessary in punishments by fire, and 
which was soon to become so famous in Scotland, that every 
burgh required one, was a circle of iron, formed of four parts, 
connected by steel hinges, and adapted to encircle the neck, 
like the modern jougs^ which may sometimes be seen at kirk 


THE king’s advocate. 


39 


ioors. Tlie chain was behind ; in front was the broad gag 
which entered the mouth, and pressed down the tongue to pre 
vent the unhappy wretch, whose head was locked within it 
crying aloud ; and after the execution, this diabolical invention, 
which was usually found among the ashes of the fire and of th« 
skeleton, with fragments of bones and teeth adhering to it, was 
carefully preserved by the thrifty baillies in the council cham- 
ber until the next “ worrying,” as it was termed. 

Several horseloads of faggots, nicely split, and tied up in 
bundles, were piled three feet deep around the stake by the 
concurrents, or assistants of Sanders Screw, in absence of Dob' 
bie, whom a blow from Leslie’s sword had left half dead at a 
cottage near Inverted ; and on these bundles they poured seve- 
ral buckets of tar and oil, thereafter sprinkling the whole with 
gunpowder and sulphur. These operations soothed the excite- 
ment and impatience of the expectant thousands, who, long 
before the fatal hour, had taken possession of the whole ground 
about the stake, a circle round which was kept open by the 
lialberts of the provost, while beyond there were a party of fitly 
mounted spearmen under his kinsman. Sir Andrew Preston ot 
Gourtoun, who was sheathed in complete armour. Every 
second trooper bore a lighted torch ; thus the mob could see 
with ease, and be seen. 

In addition to the inhabitants of the city, nearly all those of the 
four municipalities, or burghs of regality, which lay without the 
barriers, — viz., the Portsburgh, lying before the West-port; the 
Canongate, without the Netherbow-port ; the Potter-row, which 
lay before the Kirk-of-field-port ; and the Oalton, lying without 
St. Andrew’s-port, or the Craig-end-gate, were collected in this 
spacious area of the Grass-market, and on the steep face of the 
castle bank. The walls of the ravelin which crowned it on 
the noi th, the bartizans, roofs, windows, even the chimney heads 
and pediments, every ledge and part of the houses on the west, 
and the ends of those which closed the ground below, w'ere 
crowded with spectators. The market-place was like a sea of 
:j})Uirned faces, all visible in the torchlight, though far down 
below ; and the hum of their myriad voices, mingled with many 
a shrill cry or threat, the clink of steel, or clatter of iron hoofs, 
as the armed horsemen rode to and fro keeping order among 
them, ascended the side of the hill, and echoed among the 
rocks and towers of the fortress, where the poor victim foi 
whom they waited was kneeling at her prayers. 

So great was the crowd in the market, that even the barti 


398 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


tans of the Greyfriars’ monastery, a large building whi-^K formed 
part of the street, and had been built by James about a 
hundred years before, for Cornelius of Zurich and certam canons 
of Cologne, together with the loftier houses of the B-nurhts of 
Torphichen, in the Bow, though still more distant, we^e covered 
with spectators. 

Clad in thin grey cassocks girt with knotted cords , the Grey- 
friars ran about among the people, barefooted, and carrying 
little wooden boxes to receive money from the chantable and 
religious to pay for “ masses and prayers for the soal of the 
p^jor lost heretic and sorceress,” — prayers and masses for the 
poor girl who was yet living. Solemn mass, as for the dead, 
was to have been said in the chapel of St. Margaret, the 
queen of Scotland, by Father St. Bernard, and the chaplain 
of the fortress ; but the bail lies, the portly deacons of the 
crafts and consequential councillors of the gude town, were 
impatient for the deid chack^ and had ordered, that as the friars 
had lingered too long with Jane in her cell, and as the hour 
of twelve approached, and the people were impatient, they 
should do their office at the stake ; an edict of selfishness and 
cruelty. 

This deid chack was a dinner or supper (according to the 
hour) of which the magistrates always partook after an exe- 
cution ; and it was generally served up with great civic state, 
in a chamber which adjoined the church of St. Giles, and which 
in later days was the vestry of the Tol booth kirk. 

Twelve rang from the great tower of that venerable fane; 
and to the ears of all it seemed to do so more slowly and 
solemnly than usual, for such is the force of imagination. At 
the same moment the lurid Hash of a culverin broke redly from 
the battlements of the Constable’s Tower, and its hoarse boom 
pealed away over the heads of the people. 

Every heart leaped, every ear tingled, every eye dilated. A 
rapid murmur pervaded the vast multitude, and then died away, 
leaving them all attention — all ear and eye ; they seemed to 
have but one pulse, one heart, and their expectations were ex- 
cited to the utmost degree when the strong iron portal of the 
Spur unclosed, and the procession of death appeared slowly 
descending the steep bank towards the stake. 

First came six arquebusiers in steel caps and crimson doub- 
lets, marching in double file, with their matches smoking. 

I'hen came Sanders Screw, dressed in flaming scarlet, with a 
leather apron, and his arms bared to the elbow. He bore a 


THE king’s advocate. 


39 ^ 


lighted torch, which flared luridly on his withered visage and 
decrepit figure. He looked like an antiquated fiend. 

Then came the governor of the fortress, Sir James Riddel, 
walking on foot, but in half armour, attended by an esquire ami 
two pages, — one bearing his sword, the other his helmet. With 
iiini were the magistrates in their scarlet gowns, wearing their 
chains of gold, with their sword-bearer, macer, and halberdiers, 
clad in blue doublets, laced and slashed with yellow. 

Then appeared Father St. Bernard, with the Dominican who 
acted as the governor’s chaplain. Both were walking bareheaded 
and in full canonicals, with their eyes fixed upon their books. 
St. Bernard was praying, the Dominican made the responses in 
a loud and audible voice. All the people immediately un- 
covered their heads, and the horsemen of Gourtoun lowered the 
points of their lances. 

When Lady Jane appeared, another low murmur pervaded 
the people, mingled with exclamations of — 

“ Alake ! alake ! oh waly ! waly ! Eh, sirs, and gude preserve 
us ! waly ! waly !” for the latter is an old Scottish exclamation 
expressive of the utmost commiseration. 

It rose almost to a shout, then it died away, and silence 
sealed the lips of nearly ten thousand persons ; they seemed for 
a time to be frozen with pity, horror, and expectation of the - 
dire catastrophe ; and so they remained with their countless 
eyes fixed upon her, their mouths open, their voices hushed, 
their breathing suspended. 

Poor Jane! amid all that living sea, around, above, and 
below, she saw not the face of a friend, and yet the heads were 
rising and falling like the billows of a heaving ocean, as the 
hushed people, animated by morbid curiosity, struggled in 
silence to obtain a full view of her. 

The lines of Nicholas Rowe are strikingly descriptive of Jiet 
aspect ; for as she descended to the pile — - 

“ Submissive, sad, and lowly was her look , 

A burning taper in her baud she l)ore, 

And oil her shoulders carelessly confused 
With la ise neglect her lovely tresses hung ; 

Upon her cheek a faintish flush was spread ; 

Feeble she seemed, and sorely smit with pain. 

Her streaming eye bent ever on the earth, 

Except when in some bitter pang of sorrow. 

To heaven she seemed in fervent zeal to raise, 

And begged that mercy man denied her here.'' 

Instead of being dressed in a penitent’s frock of tarred canvas, 
painted with flames pointing downwards, like those of the 


iOO 


JANE SETON *, OR, 


“ heretics ” whom the same spectators had seen burned at the 
Rood of Greenside, before the gate of the Carmelites, a shoit 
time before, Jane wore an ordinary tunic of blue silk ; and her 
little velvet cap, with its triangular front, from the top of which 
a pendent bob-jewel sparkled on her brow, — for she had re^ 
solved to die bravely. Her rosary, formed of silver and coral 
beads, hung at her wrist ; her missal was in one hand, a taper 
in the other. Her luxuriant brown hair hung over her shoul- 
ders, in sign of sorrow and repentance ; she was sorely changed, 
and worn almost to a skeleton, but there was something almost 
holy in the solemn and resigned expression of her beautiful 
face. It was the pallor of long ‘mental suffering, mingled with 
a sublime resignation to the will of God and the hard fate He 
designed for her at the hands of his creatures, who seemed to 
her so merciless. 

Now hovering between time and eternity, she seemed as one 
beyond the pale of life. 

The fear and hatred which her name, as a rumoured sorceress, 
had excited in the minds of the people, died away wdieu they 
beheld her. Sorrow and compassion swelled in every heart, 
and each man whispered to his neighbour of her youth and 
beauty, and the memory of that good and valiant earl her 
father, “ who fought so well for Scotland, God rest him !” 

Many wrung their hands, many wept, and more prayed for 
her ; for if they were blunt and fiery, our Scottish sires of the 
olden time, and somewhat too ready with the use of their 
swords and dirks, they were warm-hearted and kind, as they 
were honest and true. 

Her dignity and courage deserved their praise, for, on be- 
holding those assembled thousands, the glittering pikes of the 
mailed horsemen, the halberts and arquebuses, the stake with 
its chain, and the oiled faggots which formed that appalling 
pile, Jane gathered courage from her pride of birth and name, 
and resolved that history should never have it to record that a 
daughter of the house of Ashkirk blenched in the face of 
death — that grim foe, whom its sons had so often confronted 
on the fields of France and England. As these thoughts fired 
her heart, her cheek Hushed, her dark eye lighted up, she 
became in a moment sublime ; and as the bright torches glared 
on her wasted and ghastly beauty, the people saw in her no 
longer the regicide and the sorceress, but a heroine, a martyr 1 

Now she knelt down by the pile, for Father St. Bernard, in 
a low voice, almost inaudibly tremulous, began to repeat th« 


THE king’s advocate. 


401 


prayers contained in the mass usually performed for the aead 
on the day of decease or burial ; for as an “obdurate heretic 
and sorceress,” Jane was not permitted to receive the last 
sacraments of her church in public, but the good old pre- 
bendary had bestowed them in secret. 

Then, as this solemn service commenced, the entire assembled 
thousands sank upon their knees, and bowed down their heads. 
Even the Reformers who were in the crowd (and there were 
many), could not refuse to kneel and pray, at a crisis so sad and 
terrible, when a poor human soul was, as they thought, hover- 
ing on the brink of hell. 

The horsemen of Gourtoun remained upright in their saddles, 
with their armour gleaming in the torchlight, which shed its 
uncertain glare upon the crowded bank, and on the giant 
fortress that towered into the clouds above it, upon the bastions 
and cannon of the Spur, upon the crowded windows and fan- 
tastic architecture of the closes, and the sea of heads that w'ere 
bowed in the market-place, far down below, upon the kneeling 
sufferer, the silver hair, bald heads, and shining vestments of 
the priests beside her ; while like the murmur of a gentle wind, 
as it passes over a full-eared corn-field, the voices of the people 
rose, when they joined in the beautiful hymn prescribed bv 
what was then their church, — 

, “ The day of wrath ! that dreadful day ' 

Shall the whole world in ashes lay, 

As David and the sybils say. 

What horror shall invade the mind, 

When the strict Judge, who would be kind. 

Shall have few venial faults to find !” 

and so on to the close of the solemn chant, — 

“ Prostrate my contrite heart I rend. 

Do not forsake me in mine end ! 

Well may they curse their second breath, - 

Who rise to everlasting death ! 

Thou great Creator of mankind. 

Oh, let this soul compassion find .” 

Amid all that vast assemblage, there was one person who did 
not seem to join in this hymn. He had lost his bonnet ; his 
head was bare, and his hair, wild, matted, and disordered, 
waved around his head, and mingled with a !»eard, that seemed 
to have been untrimmed for a fortnight. He was armed with 
a loEg sword, and rode a powerful horse, the blood of which 
was d lipping from a pair of sharp spurs, which appeared to be 
26 


40Q 


JANS seton; or, 


hurriedly buckled on. The whole multitude were intently 
re^ardinff the poor being who was about to suffer, otherwise 
the pale visage, fierce eyes, and wild aspect of this strange 
horseman, must have attracted, in a marked manner, the 
attention of all who chanced to observe him. , 

He was Roland Vipont, who, with a heart full of fury, and a 
head full of desperate thoughts, had posted himself as near the 
pile as the spearmen of Sir Andrew Preston would permit. ^ 

Love and wrath, together with wounded pride, had excited 
his great inborn courage to a point of rashness and bravery that 
made him feel strong as a Hercules, bold as a lion, and fitted 
to encounter, without a shadow of fear or qualm of doubt. Sir 
Andrew of Gourtoun’s fifty lances in a general melee. ^ 

Slowly and impressively, the chapel bells of the Grepriai^ 
and of St. Mary in the Portsburgh, began to toll a knell for the 
passing soul, and the heads of the people bent lower. 

“Blessed Lord,” Roland heard the voice ^ the prebend 
praving; “oh. King of Glory, deliver the souls of all the 
faithful departed from the flames of hell, and from the deep 
pit.” 

Jane’s pale lips seemed to move as she made a response. 

“ Deliver them from the lion’s mouth lest hell swallow them, 
and lest they fall into darkness. 

“ Let the standard-bearer Saint Michael bring them unto the 
holy light which of old thou didst promise to Abraham and to 

his posterity.” ^ . . 

“ Amen !” responded the calm voice of the old Dominican. 

St. Bernard shut his missal, and covered his face with the 
sleeve of his vestment. 

As one man, the silent thousands raised their heads, and 
Sanders Screw shook the flame of his torch, to light it fully. 

Jane arose, and gazed placidly around her. 

The time had come ! 

Then, if it could be possible, the heart of Roland Vipont beat 
quicker, and he unsheathed his sword. 

“ Aid me, thou blessed power, whom all these hearts have 
invoked ! aid me for her sake ! But aid or no aid, if I am for- 
saken, ’tis but the soldier’s death! Vipont! Vipont!” he 
exclaimed, and suddenly urging his horse towards the stake, 
he threw his left arm around Jane, and drew her across his 
saddle before any one cpuld have the least idea of what he 
meant to do; and brandishing his sword around his head, 
dashed the gory spurs again into the torn flanks of his hone. 


THE king’s advocate. 


403 


Appalled by ths rapidity of the action, the vast assemblage 
stood immovable. 

Down the frightful steep towards the King’s Meuse he rode 
with the speed of an arrow ; and, as the clouds part before a 
thunderbolt, the horsemen gave way, and the people parted 
before him. 

“ Shut the gates of the town !” cried Sir Andrew Preston ; 
but a roar of voices burst from the multitude, and amid that 
roar his voice was confounded and lost. 

Fortunately the gates were open, and deserted by their 
warders ; and thus, before the people had recovered from their 
astonishment, and before the troopers of Gourtoun were ordered 
to pursue, Roland Vipont, with his rescued prize, had cleared 
the Castle Wynd, the crowded market-place, and left the city’s 
western barrier far behind him, as he spurred, like a whirlwind, 
towards the wood and marshes of Corstorphine, where, almost 
girded by a lake, and surrounded by a deep moat, the strong 
stately fortress of the Forresters awaited him with open gatea. 


CHAPTER LX. 

CONCLUSION. 

** So they were wedded, and life’s smoothest tide 
Bore on its breast the bridegroom and the bride.” 

Croly, 

With these two lines we might fairly dismiss the hero and tl><i 
heroine of these volumes, without describing or expatiating 
on the explanations that brought about a termination so pleas- 
ing ; but it suddenly occurred to us that the reader, who had 
kindly accompanied us so far, might have some curiosity to 
leai-a the fate of the other actors in our drama or history, for it 
partakes of both. 

Jane’s relation accounted for the extorted letter which caused 
such pain to Roland ; and the next messenger from Falkland 
announced that a pardon had actually been granted by the 
king, while the whole plot against her life and honour, was 
fully revealed and made conspicuous by the secret papers and 
correspondence of Redhall, all of which were purchased at the 


404 


JANE SETON ; OR, 


sale of the effects of an eminent antiquary, lately deceased, and 
are preparing for publication by a Scottish literary club. 

Roland and his bride lived to see the subversion of all 
order in the days of the Douglas wars, when he fought valiantly 
under the Duke of Chatelherault for his queen, like a man ol 
truth and honour, for which he received from her own fair 
finger a ring of gold, which his descendants possess unto the 
present day. 

Released from Inchkeith by order of the king, the venerable 
Countess of Ashkirk had soon after the happiness of procuring 
from Rome, through the influence of Cardinal Beaton, a dis- 
pensation by which Sybil Douglas, of Kilspindie, was married 
to her cousin, the earl, who survived that period more than 
fifty years ; and, during a long and useful life, was eminently 
distinguished for his loyalty and patriotism. The last time we 
aeard or read of him was in 1587, when, on tidings of Mary’s 
nurder at Fotheringay arriving at Edinburgh, he appeared at 
Hol 3 ^rood with his eight tall sons, all sheathed in black armour, 
^o show king James VI. what he considered the most proper 
court mourning for the occasion. 

Father St. Bernard lived to see the Reformation, which nearly 
broke the old man’s heart ; for he thought that the end of the 
world was at hand. In his ninetieth year he died among the 
nonks. of St. Jerome, at the Escurial, in Spain, whither he had 
.ravelled to deposit the arm bone of St. Giles. 

Ten years after the events we have narrated, the gallant Sir 
lohn Forrester fell, fighting for his country, at the battle of 
Pinkey, on the 10th September, 1547. He was shot when 
naking a brilliant charge with his own vassals against those 
-egiments of Spanish arquebusiers, who, under Don Pedro de 
Gamboa, gained that battle for the Duke of Somerset. 

Honest old Lintstock, the ex-gunner, instead of settling on 
'.he estate which Vipont received in free barony from tlie king, 
narried the hostel, or rather the hosteller’s widow, to whom 
ae had paid his court so long, and though he became one Oi 
.he wealthiest burgesses of the good town, instead of becoming 
cither a councillor or baillie, he preferred to doze away his time 
Dy the tap-room fire, where, with other old iron-headed troop- 
ers and trampers, over a can of mumbeer, he told long and 
.n terminable stories of the battles of Flodden and Haddonrig ; 
3f sakers, of carthouns, and cannons-royale ; and of blowing 
Englishmen, Spaniards, and Highlandraen all to rags and fnttera, 
br he had fought against them all in his time. 


THE king’s advocate. 


4a 


The end of Dobbie the doomster is buried in obscurity, unlesi 
we connect him in some way with the same legal functionarj 
who is said to have drowned himself by leaping, in a drunken 
fik from the steep pinnacle of rock which overhangs the 
t^h of Duddingstone, and is now known as the Hangman's 
Knowe ; but if it will comfort the reader to know the end of 
Birrel the brodder, we may add that this amiable individual 
became unfortunately involved in the murder of Cardinal 
Beaton in the year 1546, and being taken with other prisoners 
when St. Andrew’s was stormed by the admiral of the galleys, 
Leon, prior of Capua, he was conveyed to France, where he 
died, miserably chained to an oar, and scourged almost to a 
skeleton, in a galley at Brest. 

John of the Silvermills, first deacon of the barber chirurgeons 
at Edinburgh, never completed his famous elixir which would 
have brought his profession to a close, and enabled us to live 
without an ache or an ailment for ever. This precious com- 
pound was just on the point of completion by the addition of 
that small ingredient it had lacked so long, and for which he 
had found a substitute in the blood of a certain reptile, men- 
tioned in the black letter “ Ereptology ” of Francis Redi, when 
one dark night ten thousand Englishmen landed and gave all 
to fire and sword in and around Edinburgh. This was Lord 
Hertford’s famous invasion in 1544. 

Poor John’s laboratory was destroyed, and for months after- 
wards he was to be seen, like the ghost of himself, rending his 
beard and lamenting over the ruins of his premises, strewed 
with shattered retorts and broken crucibles, and mourning 
heavily, like another Jeremiah, over the fall of an imaginary 
Babylon. 


THE END. 


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